


In Shadows we Waltz

by KittyMayhem



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons), Superman (Comics), Superman - All Media Types, Superman/Batman (Comics), Superman: The Animated Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst, Blood Magic, Confusion, Demons, Dominant Clark, Eventual Smut, Fae & Fairies, Halloween, M/M, Magic-Users, OOC, Pining, Rimming, Romance, Submissive Bruce, Vampires, Violence, Werewolves, temporary major character death, there IS a plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2018-06-10 09:44:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 42,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6951322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyMayhem/pseuds/KittyMayhem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Shadows we Waltz, in Darkness we Reign...</p><p>It's been this way for centuries. More so. The call of the night has never changed, never waned, and those who dance in it know of its partners and the faces that hide within the masquerade of truth hidden in plain sight and believed to be lies. Bruce is highly aware of all that goes on within the night, more so than he wants to let on. He hides himself and his life in the shadows, but it all comes to light when the dangers of the night come forward to unveil themselves and force his hand to keep those whom matter safe.</p><p>The masks of Halloween and the tales of the Underworld are coming to claim Gotham.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: The Requiem

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not even going to lie...I created this story a long time ago and never finished it. I actually have no idea where I want to go with it or why it took the current direction in which it took, but I'm curious to find out and hopeful that someone will possibly give me a push.
> 
> I'm not revising it right now, but I am open to suggestions on what people would like to see once the initial chapters I've completed have arrived. 
> 
> Until then...I leave you to read this, and hopefully it's not shit writing.

**Prologue:**   _The Requiem_

                They’d been hit with some strange things as of late.

                He couldn’t quite help but to ponder about it the longer he sat there in his plush chair, arms draped casually over the armrests as his legs crossed themselves idly. The soft clink of ice settling and melting into his drink caught his ears, but it was dismissed alongside the notions of sipping it just yet. He could hear his butler shuffling away to place things back in order and to possibly retire for the night, but nothing else. The fires were laid to rest in lieu of the silence of the darkness and the eerie light of the full moon peering in through the large paneled window overlooking the gardens below. He remained where he was, lost in his thoughts as his eyes slipped to the clear view of the night skies.

                Much had been changing. Unknowingly, but it had been changing.

                The life of humanity was humming with it. It was a buzz he hadn’t felt since the arrival of the child of the stars, and even then the thrum of that moment didn’t come to a crescendo until that child had become a man and made a name for himself in the world that loved and shunned him. Notably, more people loved and cherished the child of the other realm. Humans were fickle things at best, and adapted accordingly to what came in and out of their lives, and usually reacted in accordance to how they would benefit or suffer. It was the way of the world, and nothing would change about that order, no matter how much one wished it so. Regardless of the world’s workings, that buzz was amongst them again. He felt it not a few days ago.

                Something was shifting…violently at that.

                He let his eyes linger on the pale light of the moon playing upon the frozen flowers of the forlorn wisps of summer, giving the skies their final praises as their petals shed themselves. The delicate petals fluttered and danced as they saw fit to land in a soft heap of pinks and reds that the wind kissed into the air and let fly. They flew to the east, dancing away or landing in the remaining leaps of the seemingly endless garden, never to grace the stem they once resided on again.

                Much like a woman when she was ready to shed the skin that kept her so well protected.

                Such moves made or break the bonds that kept chaos in check.

                It had been so long…

                “Master Bruce…is there anything else you might need this night?”

                Bruce flicked his gaze to the right quickly, grunting something softly. “No, thank you Alfred,” he said a little clearer when the moment had passed. “Please…retire for the night. I will be fine.”

                “Regardless…” The elder man came shuffling forward and set something else down; a firm clink of another glass coming to rest aside the one that was already there. Alfred bowed slightly and wished him a silent good night, walking elsewhere to occupy his space and what time was left to him. Bruce lamented silently over the soft limp that could barely be noticed by anyone lesser than himself. He loathed training another, or bringing another into his home after Alfred, yet the old man was determined to keep and mind his place.

                Alfred was nearly eighty now…and he’d been by his side longer than the generation that deemed him the last of such class. The wind moaned in agreement. Finding anyone like Alfred wasn’t and would not happen. Alfred was perhaps the most special person left to cherish within his life, and he couldn’t quite see himself parting with the old man for anything less than death itself. That would happen sooner than later, and then there would be no one within these walls aside himself and his rampant thoughts.

                The trees rustled restlessly against one another. Summer had kissed the world and left a scorching reminder of her ways, only to have Madam Autumn sooth the burn. She’d moved in along with the ill notions that had come in her wake, making sleep just about impossible.

                They were moving again. Finally moving…

                Bruce sighed and let his hand come to rest on the glass Alfred had left behind. As if aliens and things floating in and out of space weren’t enough to deal with.

                He pressed the glass to his lips, savoring the tangy bitterness that flowed so freely down the span of his guzzling throat.

                Licked his lips of the slight bit of red that remained…

                Sighed, and tossed the glass into the fireplace that roared to life as he stood and ignored the call.

                “ _Daemon_ … _come hither come play_ ,” something sang. “ _Come heed your call…come back and dance within the blood that sings in their veins_ …”

                The call.

                It never changed.

                Fingers pressing themselves into his cool palms, he turned towards the windows again. The Shadows swayed with the call, the inky murk of shapes that resembled bodies rising with its shrill invitation to walk amongst those who did not and would never understand. They writhed with the plague, jaws stretched and howling for the life that they’ve been robbed of, hoping to sate that hollow hunger eons of madness has driven them into. The hands of monarchs had fallen and risen, and under those royally crowned and decreed hands, those who roamed the night flourished or died at the hands of those they sought to make their source of living. Elders sat in wait, laughing at their minions as they fought among one another trying to find a place here among those humans that damned them and treated them as nothing else but a sideshow for movies and books.

                How naïve of the monsters and their prey. How very naive.

                The magically lit fire was warm against his cold skin. He welcomed that warmth and what solace he could find. Chaos stirred, shuttering its wings for flight and preening its howl to knock humanity back down to its knees. He could see it happening. It would not be long before the night was upon them in full force, and the stuff of legends came screaming out of their confines to rule and dominate a mankind lost within the stars. Humans were focused on the beings outside of the skies limits, ignoring the signs of the impending uproar hoping to snatch them by the neck.

                Bruce grabbed the other glass and swallowed it all in one gulp, tossing that glass into the fire as well. He sat back, groaning softly as he indulged a little in the sweet burn of change…

                “Aaaah….YES!!”

                …and sat within the ripped remnants of his clothing as he stretched himself out for the first time in decades.

                He’d tasted many things in this life; the thirst of vengeance, the burn of life, and the bitter notion of death that left him gasping in the wake of what could be. Everything within this world had a flavor to it, even himself, but there was none as sweet as the forbidden. That glass was a ruse, a means of distraction from what he truly craved within this world and had the miserable pleasure of tasting only once. A mistake? Perhaps, but one that left him burning for more of it though it should have never bore its existence. It was all the more reason to let the night hurry to claim its place amongst those who forgot. Perhaps he would forget…

                Perched lazily upon the chair with his eyes closed, he hummed and listened to the call, ignoring it and the shallow invitations. He listened to the moon, purred quietly, and dreamed of the star child that would never be his.

 

               


	2. You're Cordially Invited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which reporters are nosy, people can't relationship properly, and people get invited to these events that just can't be ignored.

**Chapter 1:** You’re cordially invited…

* * *

 

                “That’s strange,” she whispered to no one in particular. She hummed again to herself, flipping the paper over once or twice before setting it down on her desk. The scribbling said what she thought it did, but that didn’t mean she was about to believe it for a second. But still, “That’s just weird.”

                “What’s weird?”

                Lois looked up at the red-head photographer that had grown from a cheeky free-lance teen to a handsome smart-mouthed photographer rivaling those who were at the top of their game. “What’s up Jimmy?” she greeted.

                Jimmy gestured to the paper with his nose. “That’s what I want to know. What’s weird?”

                Lois couldn’t find it within herself to say it aloud. It was just as absurd as reading it, and knowing there were several more like it sitting in the corner of her desk. She crossed her legs and slid the paper Jimmy’s way, content to sit back and pretend that this had to be some elaborate joke. She pointedly didn’t look at the next sheet of paper that floated down from the fingers of someone passing by. Stories often came her way by stray hands from the mouth or scribbling of her boss. Perry was holed up in his office now, hiding from the very thing she’d been reading about. The phones were ringing off the hook a while ago, and now the poor secretary was forced to do something else besides look pretty.

                Lois snickered, watching the flustered brunette hang up on yet another call and hang her head in disgust.

                Jimmy’s brow shot up to the hairline of his handsome but boyish face. “You mean to tell me that someone…is claiming…this??” He flipped the paper over much like she did, blinking at it. Lois pressed her lips together and jammed her hands under her arms. “Oh…you have got to be shitting me.”

                “That’s the seventh one,” Lois muttered. “I don’t know what to believe.”

                “Halloween is around the corner Lois. It’s probably a joke or something,” Jimmy reasoned. “There’s no way something like this is true. It can’t be. Watch, it’s probably some joker with nothing more to do than get some fancy dentistry done and scare the crap out of people.”

                “But BITING them?”

                “A Sick fucker. End of story.”

                As much as Lois would like to have believed that, she’d seen her fair share of strange to properly dismiss such notions as Vampires walking amongst them.

                It had started a few days ago. It was the week before October’s infamous holiday, when a tip from an old buddy of hers left a strange message on her voicemail. She’d listened and practically run for the door, barely slipping her sneakers on in her haste to get to where the action was going on. The promise of some sinister deed was front page news. She wasn’t aware of the details, but the address was familiar, as it was in an area of Metropolis that wasn’t known to be prestige in its dealings. She’d hopped in her car and drove as fast as she possibly could, getting to her destination in less than the allotted twenty minutes that it usually took when she was speeding.

                She drove up to the sight of swirling colors of blue and red upon several cop cars, the police talking amongst one another and shaking their heads, and one or two civilians shuddering in the October chill, nervously looking to the shadows and back at the house they’d fled from. There was an ambulance there, and the EMT’s were pulling out a stretcher with someone pale looking upon it.

                The oxygen mask wasn’t a promising notion, but that wasn’t what caught her attention. Her attention was on the restraints binding the pale looking person to the stretcher. He or she didn’t look like they were getting up soon. What was the reason for it? She slipped out of her car to get a better look, but the cops had noticed her by then, waving her off with barks of “No PRESS!” coming from their mouths.

                It was bad if the press wasn’t allowed to scope this out beforehand. A rule of thumb she lived by was to obey the officers when they were around, and to come back later when they’d swallowed their share of the drama. She’d hopped back into her car and left, and not an hour later did she swing by to see those same people standing outside, looking worse for wear and smelling like an inbred weed nursery.

                She’d rolled her eyes and walked off the moment they started screaming that the pale man on the stretcher was a vampire.

                She’d gone to work the next day prepared to shove that incident out of her mind when the buzz of the office hit her full force. There had been calls about people being attacked and bitten, but not by some strange dog left rampant. No. They were screaming about blood sucking vampires, swearing up and down that they were real. She might have ignored it some more, if one of the calls hadn’t come from one of their own staff, warning them that it was real.

                Lois absently rubbed her neck. The tips, claims, and stories were piling up obscenely. This was too wide spread for them to think it was just a joke. An elaborate joke, maybe. Possibly.

                She wanted to believe that much.

                Jimmy looked around, ignoring her discomfort. He didn’t like it any more than she did and sought not to dwell on the possible aspects that it could be true. “Hey,” he mused, “Where’s the ex?”

                Lois shrugged. “I don’t know where Clark is,” she sighed. “I’m not his keeper.”

                “Anymore,” Jimmy muttered.

                “…it’s better this way Jimmy…and you know it,” she said before he could open his mouth to disagree. She kept her arms folded, this time hugging herself from her own words and the slightly put upon and withering look Jimmy was giving her. “I can’t give him what he wants.”

                “And what is it that he wants so, more than you?”

                Lois shook her head, suddenly tired and wishing she was back in her bed. “A simple life,” she sighed. “But my life isn’t simple…”

                “No one’s life is…and you just don’t want to own up to the fact that you still want—“

                “Jimmy!”

                “What?! Lois, it’s been YEARS. If he hasn’t asked you by now, he’s not going to. A man like that…doesn’t even have time for **himself**.”

                He tapped her desk and sighed, muttering something about getting a coffee. He walked off, hands jammed into his pockets, his camera thumping gently against his chest, and his stride purposeful as he walked right for the break room. Lois watched him go, annoyed and frustrated. She wouldn’t openly admit that it was more directed at herself than Jimmy for having the balls to lay it out there for all to see. Lois was a truth finder, but having some of her own shoved in her face by another hand was just a little too much for her to stomach.

                Nine was fast approaching. She knew Clark tended to be a little late every now and again, but this wasn’t like the man unless something major happened. She sighed, tempted with the thought of calling him at his apartment just to appease her rousing concern. She owed that to Jimmy and his inquiries.

                She was going to smack the red-head upside the head when he came around again.

                Her phone chirped before she could grab the landline that was on her desk. Thoughts of finding Clark were shoved to the side for a moment, her heart fluttering in its chest unexpectedly as she spied a number that hadn’t been deleted, dialed, or sent in more than a few months. She’d thought about dialing that number time and time again, but didn’t for her own dignity and the sanity that was realism. Realistically, she shouldn’t have gotten worked up like this when this man called, but it was hard not to…not when he was so very…

                She flipped open the phone on the third ring, not caring that it’d cut off the final lines of a song she’d grown to hate and love over the years. “Hello? Lois Lane speaking.”

                “ _Lois Lane? Is that what you’re calling yourself these days?”_ a voice purred.

                “It is my name,” she quipped, “Unless you want to call me Mistress. I’m not against that.”

                “ _While I’d usually say something…risqué…I don’t have much time to make your pretty little cheeks light themselves on fire,”_ the voice chuckled. “ _No. I was wondering if you’re busy on Halloween.”_

                “No, I’m free.” She would make herself free. She usually came to the shin-dig they threw at the office before spending the night giggling and laughing with several of her friends as they sat up screaming at the year’s worst and creepiest movies. Every year they found something to howl at in laughter, and something to scream at when the lights flickered out and left them in darkness torn between screaming and giggling. This year she was supposed to go to a good friend’s Halloween Party, but she’d understand. Hopefully.

                The voice seemed to hear the eagerness in her voice. It laughed and left her shivering in ways she didn’t want to think about in the office. “ _Free you say? In that case, I’d like to invite you and a guest to my Halloween Party,”_ it said. _“As a matter of fact, I’d like you to bring Clark.”_

                “Clark?” she questioned. “You want me to bring…”

                _“Clark. Yes. I can’t seem to reach him these days. The man is never around when you need him.”_

                Something in her deflated at the prospect of bringing Clark with her. It didn’t deter her excitement however, when she realized that he was still inviting her to spend Halloween with him. Images of swirling costumes and masks raced through her head, with the hopeful promise of a night of laughter and fun at the disposal of her host. He never threw boring parties. Something was always happening that had people or the news talking a day later. She supposed it was just part of his charm, that part of him she couldn’t quite resist no matter how much her brain told her to stop it.

                Still, that didn’t keep her from wondering at his words. “What do you mean you can’t reach him?”

                “ _It’s like I said_ ,” the voice said. “ _Unlike you, I can’t seem to reach him when I need him for something_.” Concern was dripping into the usually deceptive voice, coloring the conversation a whole different color.  “ _I’m sure it’s only a recent development, but that kind of worries me a bit. He’s not angry with me, is he?_ ”

                “Why would he be angry at you?”

                “ _I don’t know. Why don’t you find out when you ask him to come with you?”_

                Lois sighed, put upon, annoyed, and intrigued in the same breath. And she wondered why she was still a journalist. She couldn’t quite keep her eyes and curiosity in check anymore. “All right. I’ll ask,” she said, keeping herself from sighing dreamily when that voice laughed in soft delight. “I don’t know why you want him to come so bad. He might say no.”

                “ _Then I will drag him out here. It’s been too long since I’ve seen either of you_.”

                “Yes well…that’s life. Where is it?”

                “ _Where else? At the Manor of course. The festivities start at six, and the real fun starts…around midnight._ ”

                “Midnight? What happens at midnight? Do I get a kiss?” she joked.

                “ _I suppose you’d better be there in order to find out. Don’t worry about rooming.”_

                An overnight stay then. She had already mentally packed her bags. “Of course. Anyone else we know going to be there?”

                That voice laughed and took on a deep growling purr that made her squirm. “ _Oh my dear…you never know. I’ll see you there._ ”

                He hung up. She sat with the phone pressed to her ear another moment, daring to believe that he was still breathing on the other end, smiling into the receiver because he knew what that voice did to her. He had to know. If he didn’t…

                A sharp slap of paper on wood made her jar from her daydreams. She looked up and snapped her phone shut, glaring briefly at the one who’d interrupted her.  That glare turned into a mixture of concern, guilt, and bubbling curiosity when she saw the state of the formerly missing Clark Kent.

                Clark shoved his usually kept locks out of his face, sniffing a bit as he seemed to come back to himself. He stared at the files he’d dropped on his desk, looked at the phone and the computer, and then seemed to remember that he was standing. He sat down and just about dropped then and there, yawning unceremoniously as he dropped his head in his hands.

                Lois blinked at his behavior, more so when Jimmy came back into the scene with a Venti Mocha Latte with two shots with Clark’s name written on it. Literally. Starbucks was lovely like that to its regulars. Clark gratefully took it from him, going back to his half-awake state.

                “Hey, where’s mine?” she asked.

                “At the store,” Jimmy said. “Sorry, you’re out of luck today. Clark gets the brownie points.”

                “And why would that be?”

                “I was up all fucking night,” Clark muttered tiredly. He didn’t realize what he was saying until it was much too late. Lois almost fell out of her chair. Clark just didn’t curse. **_Ever_**. He snorted in amusement, sipping at the five dollar coffee and inhaling the scent to wake himself up a little more. “Following a lead.”

                “A lead?”

                Clark didn’t have the energy to elaborate. He gestured to something. Jimmy plucked that infernal piece of paper Lois had thought about throwing away from her desk and waved it in her face. “This,” Jimmy supplied, “Or one of them. You’re not the only one getting them.”

                “I still think it’s a joke,” she huffed.

                Jimmy shrugged and patted Clark on his shoulder lightly. “You should call it a day early today,” he mentioned. Clark gave him a tired nod and smiled just the same, waving when Jimmy walked off to mess with his camera and whatever else was on it at the moment. Once he was gone, he just about smacked his head on the top of his desk. While the coffee was a nice gesture, it wasn’t going to do much today. He hadn’t slept last night…or the night before.

                “Clark, you really don’t think that there’s something to these calls, do you?”

                Clark shrugged and didn’t respond. Lois sighed, knowing that this was a dead subject until he was in working order.  “Well, I suppose I should let you know that you were inquired about,” she mentioned, changing the subject effectively. Clark lifted his head a little, his sign that he was partially listening. “I got a call…”

                “From?”

                “Bruce.”

                Down went Clark’s head. “Whatever.”

                “He thinks you’re dodging him.”

                “And who said the man wasn’t smart?”

                Lois rolled her eyes skyward. Why in the hell she bothered sometimes was beyond her. “Not that you’ll be interested,” she muttered leaning forward a bit, “but we’ve been invited to the Manor…for his Halloween Party.”

                Lois didn’t think anyone could move as fast as Clark did and regret it just as much. Clark’s head flew up with his hands coming to still the throbbing in his temples, eyes wavering with the effort it was taking to keep them on her and not the back of his lids. He really did look like complete shit, but she wasn’t about to point out the obvious. She was a little too concerned at the glare she was getting.

                Clark muttered something too low and vile for her to hear properly. “…he’d stoop that low…” he grunted tiredly, raking his hands through his disheveled hair and tugging at the ends of his shirt when that wasn’t enough to settle him. He shifted several times in his chair, got up, sat down, sipped his coffee, and then muttered some more as he grabbed the phone that was sitting in his pocket.

                “Clark…is there something going on that I don’t know about but have been dragged into?” Lois questioned.

                “No.”

                “Are you sure?”

                “Yes.”

                “So then why are you so…moody? It’s only a party! You don’t have to go…but he did say he’d drag you there if you didn’t show.”

                Clark’s annoyance seemed to take on another level of being flustered, and not in a heated way. Worry was clear as day on his face, confusion seeping to the forefront of his mind the longer he let the information digest. Lois couldn’t figure out what was playing in that head of his.

                “Oh…and he said not to worry about rooms…”

                “Did he now.”

                “Okay, **_something_** happened. You’re just being too much of a bitch.”

                Clark wouldn’t say yes or no. He drank the rest of his coffee, got up, and forced himself to walk past the dizziness. He had some mind to shove the files he’d dropped into his desk and **lock** them up before he walked past her, out of the office, and eventually out of the building.

                Lois sighed, resigning herself to a long day when her phone rang again. Eventually they’d get over this, whatever “this” was. She only hoped that it ended well for everyone, and that she wouldn’t be dragged into the middle of this…again.

                “Once is enough,” she muttered darkly.

* * *

 

                “Please tell me you’ve lost all sense of what is reasonable,” Clark snapped tiredly into the receiver. “Please tell me that you did not invite us to the Halloween Party of the century, and that you do not expect me to come in yet **_another_** costume. I have one on already, and my spare is in the cleaners.”

                Rich hearty laughter that didn’t grace the light of day often enough made Clark blink incredulously at the little device in his hands. He spared it a glance, daring to believe that his ears were still functional…somewhat. The brisk air of the autumn kissed city blew past his face, bringing with it the scent of roasted caramelized nuts from the vendor on the corner, someone’s fifth menthol wrapped in Black Polo, and the strange off scent of something sweetly foul that had been lingering for the past several nights. That last smell always made him shiver, yet never for pleasantries. He usually fought the ingrained urge to run the other way, wondering why that feeling overwhelmed him so totally when there was no source to it.

                “ _I take it she told you_ ,” Bruce purred.  “ _I do hope you’re not dumb enough to skip out._ ”

                “Why should I come?”

                “ _Because I asked_ ,” came the answer, clear and confident and laced with something Clark had never quite heard before. “ _I do expect to see you there. Don’t make me come and get you Clark_.”

                “Bruce…”

                “ _While I would love to hash out all the details of why I’m insisting you attend, I do have things to attend to. However, we do need to talk…soon.”_

                “…there’s nothing to talk about.”

                “ _So you say. But Clark…I am not kidding. I will come and get you, and you will NOT like me. This isn’t a cryptic invitation into the abyss. This is an invitation you need to take. It’s not an option at this point, and if you don’t, I can’t help you_.”

                Clark didn’t quite understand, or like the sound of what was being said. “What aren’t you telling me?”

                “ _It isn’t what I am not telling you_ ,” Bruce said quietly. “ _It’s what you’re not seeing…and what you won’t see until Halloween rolls around. After then…the stars will seem like a dream as darkness pushes forth._ ”

                “I don’t understand what that means! Bruce!”

                “ _I have to go._ ” Clark thought he’d hear the other end click itself off, but Bruce startled him yet again when he breathed softly, pressing the phone close to his mouth and saying something so softly that Clark almost didn’t hear it past the request made aloud. _“Clark…please…come to the Manor on Halloween at six. Okay_?”

                Clark shoved his hair out of his face again and sighed tiredly. “…fine.”

                “ _Thank you…and please, rest. You’re not going to find anything. They won’t let you._ ”

                This time the phone did disconnect.

                Clark kept a light groan to himself, head tilting to the amber skies still in the throw of morning hitting its midpoint. Soft wisp like clouds traced and stretched themselves out along the horizons of the buildings towering over him, drifting lazily to the east. The winds were tainted with the breath of autumn coming into the courting of winter, chilled but not so much that he didn’t need more than a jacket. His jacket remained open, the city air hitting him as the city itself seemed to pass him by, holding no love for one man lost in his thoughts and the sights that graced him and hid within his plain sight.

                He should have known Bruce would know something about this. Bruce usually knew something about everything, and if he didn’t know, he’d find out.

                Eventually he moved out of the sight of the city around him, wrapped in his thoughts, and shoving several of them away as they came racing into his head. He was much too tired to deal with it…with what it meant. He hadn’t even really gotten past the being let go part within one relationship before…

                Clark shook his head and tumbled into the darkness of the subway at the corner of the block. He didn’t want to fly, he didn’t want to think, and he didn’t want to spend his only twenty getting home in mid-morning traffic. He shoved himself into the noise and rustle of the people and the cars below the city, drowning himself in the monotonous tug and pull of commuter traffic until he had no choice but to surface.

                Eventually he made it home. Soon enough he was pressing his key into the lock, shoving the door open, and stumbling in like a drunkard after a hard night out. Yes, he kicked the door closed gently, absently locked it, and all but threw himself into his room.

                He hit the bed and sighed in relief…until he smelt the sweet cologne of a certain billionaire lingering on the bloodied shirt lying on his pillows.

                Sleep was a long time coming.

* * *

 


	3. Masquerades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bruce tells everything and nothing, and Clark can't stop dreaming...or cursing.

                “You’re not serious. You’re serious. Really?”

                Bruce sighed for what had to be the fifth time in a span of seven minutes. He leaned back in the chair he was currently perched in, legs elegantly crossed over one another as his head was propped up upon his fist, bored past his normal means. At least, it could have been boredom to anyone who was watching him from a distance. The young man who happened to be at his side saw it for what it was and raised a careful brow, slowly moving his wide wayward gaze over to where Bruce was currently staring.

                Tim almost fell.

                Bruce caught the young man by his wrist smoothly, tugging him forward to sit on the armrest.

                “Really?”

                Bruce nodded.  “Really.”

                “Huh. That’s not cool.”

                “Not really, no.”

                Tim fiddled with the lapels of his jacket. “Can I go?”

                “Stay with Alfred.”

                Tim didn’t need to be told twice. The young man, barely seventeen by right, slipped off of the armrest and walked as calmly as he could toward the entrance to the sitting room. From there his quick steps became an all-out run, the heavy breathing of his inward panic coming to the surface as he fully registered what he’d seen just now.

                Bruce sent an annoyed glare at the shadow pressed against the wall, not amused by the light laughter that fluttered from the throat that finally opened itself to announce its presence. He’d been highly aware of it since the moment it entered his home uninvited, waiting for it to say or do something.

                It did, and Bruce just about snarled at it.

                “You can’t keep avoiding him,” it said mockingly. “He will come.”

                “I will do what I damn well please,” Bruce spat. “Come or no, he will not bring his agendas to my home. I’ve no interest in his diabolical schemes and morose dreams.”

                “So you say…but will you say the same when he comes for the ones that matter?”

                The shadowed figure could do nothing more than quiver in inexplicable fear when the morose bored onyx of Bruce’s unreadable gaze flared to life with the incandescent flare of contempt, the promise of a violent death, and untapped anger swirling under the eerie piercing gold that pinned it where it stood. Not once did Bruce move from his position, but the shadow had the misfortune of finding out why he didn’t have to move.

                The shadow was moving, pulled from the comfort of its darkness until it was drawn into the faint light of the room, clear for Bruce to see. Disgust curled Bruce’s upper lip slightly, not once giving any regard for the writhing shape suddenly shoved to its knees and left there upon the floor not understanding why this agony was not laced with the crippling pain of his mind. It was a deeper ache, one that would not leave this fledgling for many days. Such was the nature of his essence, and the punishment suffered by anyone who was in Bruce’s presence unwelcome.

                “Lust…is an ugly thing uncapped,” Bruce growled. “It can kill you, long before you’re bled dry.”

                “M-my lord…I only bring—“

                “I care not for what you bring or what games that fool dares to play. The only reason you’re not bleeding to death here and now is because you’re going back.”

                “…m-my…my lord…”

                Bruce removed himself from the chair with a grace unlike the purest of his kind. He slipped out of the chair and melted towards the ground, a calm caressing hand reaching out to trace the supple cheeks of a youth that shivered under his touch. The plump lips were parted against his fingers, breath hot and cold as the supple chest of the slender body beneath him rose and fell rapidly. The soft echoes of his heart raced against his chest, loud and plentiful under the light moan of the youth pressing into him.

                He inhaled softly, drinking in the ready sight of the wanton boy, slipping his fingers into his hair and yanking it enough to show the delicate curve of his throat.

                “Such a shame,” Bruce muttered, smirking lightly as the boy opened his wide beautiful eyes. “You’re so lovely…and yet…”

                “…and…yet?? Aaah!”

                “And yet,” Bruce growled, slipping his other hand from where it had been, “Nothing but a waste of flesh that will never know the truth.” It was truly a shame. Had this been another moment in time, had he not ruined his own taste for young pitiful things that so willingly pressed themselves to his aura, his body, his thirsting hunger that left him ravenous for all this precious youth could give, he would send him back with glazed over eyes, kiss swollen lips, and an addiction that he could never satisfy without going insane.  But that moment had long passed, and now all he saw was meager pickings to the meal he so desperately wanted to savor but could not for the sake of his own sanity. “Go back…go back to him and bring with you this promise. And should you return with more of this… **nonsense** , this…” he said, carelessly rubbing the obvious bulge within the boy’s now too tight pants, “will never go _away_.”

                He shoved the boy back, moving back to sit himself in his chair and watch as the messenger crawled to his feet. Slender hands clung to the cuffs of his pants, and he lifted a single foot to knock the youth back. “I don’t fuck boys,” he smirked, “especially ones who’ve been with that shameless whore.”

                The boy groaned and rolled to his knees, snarling uncomfortably but well aware of what happened. He bowed stiffly and dropped back into the shadows, muttering curses all along the way. Bruce snorted, resuming his bored demeanor as he looked at nothing in particular.

                “I really need to revoke that open invitation,” he muttered silently. “Seriously…sending someone that young…”

                “Master Bruce?”

                “I’m fine Alfred,” Bruce called. “He’s gone.”

                “While I am relieved to hear this news, you have a visitor…”

                “Another one?”

                “Another two, Master Bruce.”

                Two? Bruce moved his head a bit to swivel it in the direction of where Tim was running for him, skidding short of sliding into his lap. He let the boy do as he saw fit to, saying nothing as Tim sat himself down at his knees, resting his shoulder on the warmth of his legs. The body heat was pleasant enough, and a cure for the hollowed ache lust tended to leave when it went unsatisfied. Staring down at him reminded Bruce of what he promised to do, and reminded him fiercely of it.

                He gently patted Tim’s dark head, leaning forward in time to see the lithe form of his eldest ward sauntering into the room with practiced ease. The boy had grown much in the fleeting years, in looks, and in demeanor.  He was the picture of cool, unreadable, and sexy within his own right, owning his heritage and making use of the body he’d built through his trials and tribulations. However, it wasn’t enough to put Bruce off of his well-rehearsed game.

                The other guest did that.

                “Hn…it’s a little early for demons to be roaming about so freely,” Bruce mused. “You’ll have to forgive me for not standing to greet you. It’s not in my nature.”

                “So I’m beginning to see,” Jason Blood mused lightly. “I beg your pardon on this intrusion. Your ward has nothing to do with my arrival, so take refuge in that.”

                Bruce looked at his eldest ward, smirking ever so faintly at the put upon look gracing those manly features. The boy turned man probably would never be comfortable with the truth looking at him so blatantly in the face every time he came here to the Manor. Richard Grayson, though grown and well past the days that once declared him to be the handsome heir to the Wayne name should Bruce die, was still a boy at heart…at the heart of one who’d seen time ravage those who were dear and unblessed by the stalling nature of immortality’s curse. His slight pout and annoyance was like watching a two-year old stomp its feet.

                It was amusing, and hard not to say so.

                “Dick…if you’ve come to inquire about…certain **things** ,” Bruce said, “There’s nothing more that I can tell you. It must run its course.”

                “Funny how now it needs to run its course,” Dick snapped. He had every right to be annoyed, though there was little that he, or Bruce for that matter, could do about it. “People are being attacked out there!”

                “It’s nothing new, boy,” Jason said. “People are always being attacked. You’re just starting to notice it, much like the rest of humanity.”

                “But—!”

                Bruce held up his hand, cutting him off before he could start. “We aren’t at liberty to do anything more than what you’re doing now,” Bruce explained. “It’s just the way things work, and will work until other things come to light.” It was not an easy pill for the boy to swallow. Bruce could see him tensing even more, at a loss and torn between what he was taught and was he was raised to do. Such conflictions only made Bruce realize just how fickle mortality could be, and how much he wanted to keep that spark in Dick’s eyes alive and away from those who sought to smother it for spite’s sake alone. “We’ve no knowledge of a motive, just the brazen cockiness of a new group trying to make a name for itself. **Relax**.”

                Dick growled but didn’t say anything more on it. Bruce wasn’t going to speak on it until he was ready. He’d seen Bruce when he was angry, and that mild anger didn’t hold a candle to how he could get when he was enraged. Bruce had already been provoked and properly pissed off by a messenger, enough so that he didn’t even realize that he was showcasing a frightening set of fangs as he opened his mouth to speak.

                Jason took that silence as an opportunity to voice himself. “I believe I smelt one of Dorian’s whelps in here,” he said. Bruce sneered. “Ah, I suppose that name is a sore point.”

                “More like a royal pain in my ass,” Bruce muttered. “Dorian is out of his mind to try _anything_.”

                “But he will. Of that there is little doubt.”

                “He touches that which matters most and there will **be** a **problem**.”

                Jason rolled his eyes. “Yet another war within the clans.”

                “A war that he will regret. I’ve lived too long for such shit. **_Please,_** tell me that you’ve come for reasons other than to discuss that haughty whoring bastard.”

                Jason nodded and said, “It will happen.” Bruce’s slight gasp had the boys looking at him incredulously. Tim felt Bruce’s hand slip from his head. The man looked as if he couldn’t quite find the right rhythm to breathe let alone pull his face back from the open wonderment and ire radiating from his eyes. Jason ignored it. “There is no stopping it.”

                “Damn it all…”

                “What are you talking about?” Dick asked. “Hey! We have a right to know!” he said when Bruce glared his way. “You’re telling me to do nothing, so I want to know what in the hell you’re both talking about!”

                “Halloween,” Bruce sighed tiredly. He sat forward and pressed his palms to his head, suddenly tired and well aware of his age sinking into his bones with the utter fear of what was to come. “We’re talking about Halloween…the free pass the night is looking for…”

                “I trust you’ve invited everyone here,” Jason said. Bruce nodded. “Good. The invitation will keep them from being sheep that night.”

                “S-sheep?!” Tim stammered. Her whirled around on Bruce screaming, “You said—!”

                “Calm yourself child,” Bruce snapped. “You will **_never_** be a sheep. I am **no** shepherd.”

                “Then…what…”

                Bruce was loathed to admit to it, let alone think about it. So much had changed, and if this were to come to light, the truth of his origins would mark him once more.  He’d come a long way from that scrawny fledgling and the damned Elder that dared to bite off more than he could chew.  He’d fought for his place, and Bruce would not be shoved into a corner to be pillaged and raped by the Elite who thought little of him.

                He would not let this happen without a fight. “The clans are rising again,” he said when too much silence had passed. The boys, his wards and one of his reasons for sitting as tightly as he had been the past few days, stepped back or gaped at him, the weight of the words shifting their perspectives. It was frightening, indeed. More so when the open threat of losing everything weighed less than losing the one thing that mattered most to him.

                “When they rise, EVERYTHING…will come to light.”

* * *

                “ _Baby…please…”_  

                The soft whisper drifted over the fog clouding his senses, soaked into them and leaving Clark visibly shuddering as his mind clamped onto the words breathed against his cool dry lips. He licked them unconsciously, clenching his hands in the sheets, mind reeling from what he didn’t need nor want to think about when he was aware. His body pressed itself deeper into the comfort of his cocoon of warmth, head lolling to the side as he drifted again, images of a dark shadow dancing in and out of his dreams.

_“No…take me home…”_

_“You’re in no condition for me to do that…”_

_“Clark…you don’t understand…I **need** to go home…”_

                The dark shadow took shape against the ghost like hands of himself within a faded dream, slightly scarred but beautiful hands latching onto his wrists in a plea he could not abide by. The scent of blood was true, was real, soaking the front of the shirt that body wore. Clark shoved those hands aside, ripping at the fabric to see where that body bled…

                _“Clark…don’t…I can’t….”_

                A slow fire worked its way into his veins, making him uncomfortable here and in the bed. He turned over, moaning softly as the silken feel of marred skin tingled his fingers. That body pressed itself into his touch, shuddering and breathing heavily as its hands came upward to gently cup Clark’s cheeks. What should have been a cool touch sent his mind into a red laced haze of dizzying heights, warmth truly seeping into his blood and leaving the air stifling.

                “ _If you don’t take me home…”_ the body whispered, pressing itself against him, forcing itself not to writhe with the open desire swimming in the blue laced irises staring into his own, _“I can’t stop what happens…”_

                _“Y-you’re hurt…”_

_“No…I’m **hungry**.”_

He tugged the sheets off of himself. His lips burned with the heat of that kiss, ravishing him with an intensity he’d never felt before. The sun never set his blood on fire like this, never made him shiver with energy he didn’t know he could have, never made him want to wrap himself around something so totally and not care about the who’s or why’s. Clark slipped his ghost like arms around the shadowed body, the soft moonlight of his dreams filling in the unsaid picture. The one he didn’t dare think about outside of here…his waking dreams.

_“Clark…I’m sorry…”_

                The fog was lifting from the dreaming memory, but he forced himself to remain there a little longer.

_“I don’t…understand…”_

_“It’s not something you were ever supposed to…you’re not mine. You’ll never be mine.”_

_“….wait…”_

_“I can’t…I’ll never have this moment again…”_

                Everything slipped into that hot explosion, everything searing, expanding, and throwing him into the darker side of his thoughts. His mouth tasted, his hands pressed and traced, his tongue laved and craved the sweet liquor of his skin slicked with sweat; his hips thrusting against another set as limber legs wrapped themselves around his taut waste to draw him deeper into that dizzying red and black fire with them drifting in the center of it. Clark fell, hard and fast, loved that body slow and sweetly, drank of the low and high moans and pleas, and shoved them past the breaking point that may have saved them.

                The fog lifted…and Clark grunted against the sheets, hand reaching down…

                White hot fire filled him and left him shaking, panting…and annoyed.

                His mind slipped back into full awareness…and he realized with dread that it was Halloween.

                Clark moaned tiredly as he pressed his head back into the pillows. He closed his eyes for a moment, and something else drifted to the surface…something he didn’t quite remember until now. Soft words had fluttered around him then but they voiced themselves clearly now, including the ones that mattered when that body had looked down at him with unchained doors to his heart.

“…oh god.”

                It was enough to spur him out of the bed and straight into the shower, ignoring the laughing morning as it dwindled into early noon. It had been a week since that call, and he hadn’t gotten any further than he’d been then. He had tried despite the warnings, but there was nothing to be found. Nothing explaining anything and that unsettled him as well as others he knew. People were in a slow panic about it, whispering about it fiercely in hushed tones, not wanting to admit that there could be something going on. So far, the news had called it one huge hoax.

                Clark wasn’t so sure.

                Heated water sluiced through his rapid thinking, drenching him for a moment and washing away the evidence of those fragrant dreams. He pressed himself into the warming spray, enjoying it for a moment.

                That body smelt of roses and death…

                He opened his eyes again, and nearly fell when the door opened itself.

                “ _Clark_ …”

                “What the—?!”

                “Clark!!”

                Okay, that voice was distinctly female now. For a moment, he thought it could have been…almost wished and immediately wanted to slam his head into something for thinking that. He turned around and scowled at the frowning woman tapping her foot impatiently.

                He’d forgotten Lois still had a key to his place…and tended to abuse it.

                “I’ve been calling you all morning!” Lois snapped. “Why aren’t you answering your phone?! Do you know what time it is?!”

                “It’s noon, I was sleeping, and I might have turned OFF my phone,” Clark grunted. “You know? That thing you do when you don’t feel like talking to anyone…especially when people come barging into your apartment screaming about something. Would you chill out?”

                “We were supposed to leave a half hour ago!”

               “And? Wayne Manor isn’t going anywhere. Bruce isn’t fucking leaping through hoops because we didn’t leave on time, and I want to take a fucking shower. Now…get out, please?”

               That woman could be a whirlwind if she allowed it. His bathroom door slammed, and he lathered his head up, forcing all thoughts of intimacy out of his mind.

* * *

                “What are you dressing up as?”

                Bruce looked to his ward, allowing himself to smile a little as Tim bounced on his bed. He was still as exuberant as ever, a bright spot in a world that was just too dark sometimes. He laid his hand on the boy’s head, laughing when Tim leaned into it. “I suppose you’re not dressing up as a puppy,” he mused, smirking faintly at the affronted look Tim gave him. “But puppies aren’t obedient.”

                “I’m not a puppy…but I am going as an animal,” Tim said, grinning widely. “Not a robin either.”

                “I didn’t think you’d be a bird tonight. You’ve decided then?”

                “Yep. Jason said he’d help me.”

                “Leave it to that man to find an excuse to leave his signature about,” Bruce said, grinning faintly. “You’re allowed, BUT,” he warned before Tim could leap up, “The glamour can’t last beyond midnight.”

                “Awww!”

                “Demon magic is strange on this day, Tim. If it slips past the bewitching hour, anything can happen. I sincerely doubt you want anyone to confuse you with a Were.”

                Tim shook his head adamantly, still excited but well aware of the warning given to him. He threw his arms around Bruce’s waist, hugging the slightly taller man in enthusiasm and slight trepidation for the coming night. Bruce kept his hand on his head, soothing him from his excitement and his open fears. The boy had much to fear within rights.

                “…that man is going to come, isn’t he?” Tim murmured.

                “I’m afraid he may,” Bruce said softly. “I’m sorry, Tim.”

                Tim buried his face deeper into Bruce’s waist, shivering from a memory that kept him awake and screaming some nights. He felt Bruce stiffen and relax, knowing full and well just what may occur tonight. “I’ll stay out of his way,” he vowed, determined to keep those memories away from him and repeating it. He never wanted to see anything like that again. “I won’t end up like my father…I won’t let him do that to me…” He didn’t think he’d let himself live if it did happen and he didn’t fight the good fight.

                “It’s best that you do that. Creatures like him have no remorse over the lives they tear apart…and I’d rather keep the bloodshed to a minimum tonight.”

                Tim smiled against him, lifting his head a bit to receive the light kiss left on the center of his head. The other side of him was out, the affectionate creature that showed itself so rarely that one tended to forget it lie within that stern face looking down at him. Tim relished these moments, warm and safe, and knowing that despite their jaundiced act outside of their comfort zones, he could always come back and know that this Bruce would be waiting in the shadows to fend off whatever harm sought him out. “No more talk of him,” Bruce said. He meant it, and Tim readily agreed not to speak of it anymore. There was much to do tonight. They could talk another time when things weren’t so dire. “Go. Help Alfred with whatever else needs to be done, and tell Jason what I said about the glamour. No longer than midnight.”

                “Yes, Sir!”

                Tim hugged him again, nearly bowling Dick over when he ran out of the room to find Alfred. Most assuredly he was in the kitchen whipping up everything for tonight’s menu. No matter what Bruce planned, he never had to actually worry about a Caterer. How Alfred did it was something he could never figure out. Dick moved to the left and stayed there, looking after the body that vanished down the corridors and toppled into Jason screaming that something was okay. Dick could only wonder what.

                “That boy,” Bruce chuckled.

                “Yes…that boy,” Dick sighed.  He slid further into the room without prompt, leaning against the bed post when he was close enough. “So…are we confined here tonight?”

                Bruce shrugged. “I won’t say confined. Rather…forcibly insisted to stay within the Manor. Of course, you’re free to go when the Awakening occurs tonight. I’m sure you’ll be **_delicious_**.”

                Dick snorted and plopped down on the edge of Bruce’s bed with a light huff. “Point taken.”

                “Sorry child…but I protect what is mine.”

                “I’m not a child.”

                No, he was not. “Not to the laws of Man…no. In my eyes, you’re still an infant…one that needn’t be slaughtered,” Bruce said, reaching out to tap the center of Dick’s furrowed brow. Dick didn’t move for his credit, sitting perfectly still against the finger that tapped his head once, twice, and a third time, taking in the change of time and what it could do to a mortal. “There are a great many things that are unknown and will perhaps remain unknown…but there is no doubt that things will shift. Darkness is coming to grace this land once more, and whatever selfishness I’m allowed, I will take.”

                “Meaning imprisoning us from the truth.”

                Bruce kept a small sigh to himself, pain flickering in his eyes. So much time wasted over petty nonsense…over his protective nature…and his selfishness trying to keep what precious things he had left close to him.  When he was forced to tell, forced to reveal, the darkness had clouded his eyes and he shoved it all away, wanting nothing to do with that sweet innocence that had once jokingly tagged along wanting to fly within the night air as free as the bird he once was. It was a strange time, not having that laughter in this house, this room…against him…innocently growing up in a hidden world Bruce would give anything to hide again.

                Yet Dick did know. He knew all that Bruce could tell him without breaking down into the wreck of a being he could be, and he only knew because he could not take the loneliness of himself trying to block out the bright light that was life and the sordid call of Death walking alongside. If things could stay still, perhaps there could be much joy in life and doing things that truly mattered. However, the bittersweet pill of life and death hand in hand reminded him that life was a precious gift, as well as the intelligence of the mind when trained properly, and that the people he was fortunate enough to meet would forever stain him in the most beautiful and ugly ways imaginable.

                So he could not hold this from Dick. He didn’t want to, but he could not say it all. Not now. “No…just the first frenzy,” he said softly. The haunted look in his face had Dick straightening up. “Few live…through that madness…and I’m sure there will be an open declaration for War between the Courts.”

                “Right…another lesson in history I didn’t pay attention to…regrettably,” Dick sighed. He leaned to the right, soaking up the warmth of Bruce when he moved to sit closer. He was a sucker for warmth as much as the next closeted sap, and none compared to the warmth of a man who could have easily killed him once. It was amazing to know that all that power, all that compacted strength and will kept in check with discipline like none he’d ever witnessed could be so kind and loving enough to take away the bonds that made them partners; the bond that made them like father and son. Older now, he could see why it all happened, but the sting of hurt from that estrangement was nothing more than a cold breeze that did nothing to deter the heat of this person trying desperately to hold on to everyone one he could.

                Bruce wasn’t fooling anyone. He loved too hard, and didn’t know how not to.

                They stayed that way, sitting in comforting companionable silence until Dick asked, “...will you tell him?”

                Bruce shuddered this time, turning his head away as Dick pressed his head into his shoulder. It was the one regret of his life he hated more than anything in this world. “I’m afraid that mask may fall tonight…whether I want it to or not,” he whispered. How could he bring himself to tell the treasure of his hidden heart such an ugly truth when he could see it in person tonight? That should go well, he thought dryly.

                “He might understand…” Dick offered.

                Bruce shook his head. “I sincerely doubt it.”

                “…isn’t that a bit hypocritical?”

                Bruce snorted openly and let out a bitter laugh. “Hypocrisy isn’t adverse to one race, be it here or within the stars above. No…we’ll see what happens. The first battles always have causalities…”

                And he was prepared to drop it all, had his adopted son not said, “…I might hit him if he breaks your heart again…”

                He let out a long and somewhat startled laugh, wrapping his arms around his first ward and allowing himself to feel that bond they’d shoved aside for their own pursuits in life.  People drifted from one another. It was a part of life that didn’t leave anyone unaffected in some way. He and his first ward, the one who’d changed much of his nocturnal life and allowed him to see the side of the world he’d blatantly ignored before, had fallen into such a rut, and it had broken his heart something fierce. He was forced to realize that time moved on with or without him, and as much as he was adverse to it, his young ward had grown up without him realizing it.

                That probably hurt more to admit to himself, but it was overrun with immense pride and relief when Dick managed to take on the world on his own. They’d kept their distance, not sure how to resolve that rift that set them apart, until now, as his ward swore to defend his honor.

                The silent affectionate side of his nature surfaced without his say so, and he welcomed it. “Child…there’s no need to injure yourself,” he chuckled. “I’m sure he’s doing that to himself already.”

                “Still…you deserve some happiness.”

                “While that may be…creatures like myself don’t find much of it…without a price.”

                “….father…”

                “Nay. No more lamenting over what will and will not be.” There was no use in it, and he’d rather have the time of his life before the inevitable were to befall them this night. “Right now, you must help me decide,” he said smirking evilly at nothing in particular. Dick pulled back to cant a brow in his direction, laughter bubbling out of him when Bruce mused over going as is, or going without the glamour.

                As it was, he stood and walked back and forth, unknowingly shedding the glamour he kept on when he was fully guarded. Dick watched his features change, still amazed at the change. He’d actually missed this side of Bruce.

                “It’d totally freak the bald bastard out,” Bruce crowed.  “Oh…such temptations.”

                 Dick chuckled, content to sit and watch his adoptive father in his musings. He sincerely hoped that the masks placed upon their faces tonight would not obscure them any further than the ones they wore day to day.

* * *

End scene.


	4. Unsaid Attractions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which people arrive at the house of Bruce Wayne and Lois doesn't have a proper excuse to give Clark about things.

Unsaid Attractions

* * *

 

                The drive to Gotham was a five hour ordeal at best, but Clark had shortened it by about an hour and some minutes. Lois had clung to the seats of the passenger side she’d plopped down into at Clark’s insistence, not sure how the man managed to weave in and out of traffic with the skill and speed of a Nascar driver.  To her credit she wasn’t even aware that the man drove. There wasn’t a real need for it when there was public transportation and his apartment wasn’t quite that far from the building. On a good day Clark could walk the distance and probably get there in an hour. Still, he didn’t own a vehicle, so she’d assumed.

                It really was a dangerous thing to assume. Clark not only had taken the keys to the rental car she’d acquired, he’d eased out of the spot she’d been locked into when she was fetching him from his apartment like a true pro.  From there he hadn’t bothered with the GPS or asking her for directions…not that he wanted to, or she offered. He seemed to know the way to Gotham quite well, and the quickest route at that.

                It only made her wonder. Clark and Bruce were not the best of friends…but they behaved amicably enough towards one another. They didn’t have a reason to be, considering how they met, and how much trouble that landed her in the first time around.

                She shifted in her seat again. The silence was killing her now. Clark hadn’t said a word since the whole shower thing, and she’d had to take several steps back. Clark just didn’t curse. No matter how much he wanted to. It was like a rule or something, and hearing him spitting out the F-word so freely was enough to stunt her thoughts for a solid minute. She’d fumed of course but wisely moved out of his way as he went about getting dressed. His bags were already packed and by the door. There was just a question of locking things up, grabbing his wallet and whatever else he needed, but not once did he say anything.

                It just wasn’t like him…and to go hours without listening to anything, not even the radio?

                She growled silently, thrusting her hand out towards the radio before she could stop herself.

 _You say that it's not your fault_  
And swear that I am mistaken   
You said it's not what it seems   
No remorse for the trust you're breaking   
You run but then back you fall   
Suffocate in the mess you're making   
You can't get enough you take   
And take and take and take   
Fuck it Are you listening!?

                “What in the hell?” she mused, alarmed and relieved for some kind of noise. “Who is this??”

                “Linkin Park,” Clark said quietly.

                Clark knew about bands like this? “…who are they?”

                “People you can’t relate to.” He twisted the knob and changed it to something she knew, changing lanes and looking at her out of the corner of his eye. “You could have said something.”

                “Me? You’re the one that is giving everyone the silent treatment!” she huffed. “What is wrong with you?!” Clark didn’t answer. Lois threw her hands up. “I give up.”

                “Funny…you seem to do that more when it comes to me than anything else…”

                She couldn’t say anything to him, but the words HURT more than she wanted to realize. The flutter of pain that curled itself into a knot in her belly flared mightily, but she kept it and herself calm. Just sitting next to the man for this long was an ache, but those words…it made her crack the window. “I thought we were past this,” she muttered, curling into herself as she watched traffic fly by. “I thought we agreed that it wasn’t going to work between us.”

                She thought he wouldn’t respond. “No, **you** said we’re too _different_.”

                “We are.”

                He shook his head. “How is that basis for breaking up?? Please clarify that with me.”

                She shook her head, not daring to go where her mind wanted to. It was screaming at her to tell him the truth of it just so he’d shut up and leave it alone, but she couldn’t do that to him. Circumstances like this had them at odds with one another once before, and she did not want to go back there. She liked the simple Clark, the one that smiled at nothing and would leap over heads just to help someone regardless of how he was feeling about them. She missed that Clark, missed having him at her side talking about nothing and everything without the pretense of searching for a way to kiss one another. For a while…she thought her feelings would grow.

                They hadn’t grown for Clark. No. They yearned for someone else…and that wasn’t fair to Clark, who’d basically placed all his hopes in her lap. It wasn’t fair for her to hold those hopes either. What good would it do anyone if she did what everyone, what Clark, expected her to do?

                “It just wasn’t going to work,” she said lamely. “Clark, you’re a nice guy…really.” And she meant it with every fiber of her being. Clark was a nice guy and he’d make some other woman very happy. Lois, while for a moment thought that once it could have been her, could not deny her heart any more than Clark could deny his. “It’s not fair for either of us to pretend that something wasn’t off.”

                “…maybe.”

                That was probably as close to an agreement that she was going to get out of the man. She took it and forced herself to be satisfied with it, though her mind wasn’t content to just leave it be and listen to the silence between them with music filtering through. She had to remember something then, eyes narrowing when Clark took the exit that would take them into Gotham.

                “Clark.”

                “What?”

                “…why are you pissed at Bruce?”

                “...I’m not.”

                “Liar.”

                “I’m not,” he repeated. There was no heat to his words, but the underlying tension was visible. It took root in his neck, Clark cricking it to the left and right as he sat back and kept driving with one hand on the wheel. “I’m not pissed at him…more like pissed at myself,” he said to himself.

                For once, Lois didn’t pry. The open look upon Clark’s face closed itself off again, and the silence resumed. She dropped her head against the window, listening to the lamenting voice of some obscure Siren wailing softly for love forlorn.

* * *

 

                “Wow…you’ve really outdone yourself.”

                Bruce inclined his head to gaze at the young woman he hadn’t laid eyes on in far too long. Barbara Gordon was a sight for sore eyes, even ones as old as his. He blinked back the unexpected sting of tears, resuming the mask he’d perfected over the years with his hands wringing themselves behind his back.

                Barbara wheeled herself forward to rest beside him taking in the décor of the Manor, whistling low as she realized just to what extent he’d gone this time. “Really Bruce…this is kind of awesome…in a creepy way,” she said, absently tugging at the spider web in front of her. “I wonder if you got that Spiderman guy to do all this…”

                She would joke about this. It was her way of dealing, and amusing as it was, he couldn’t quite stop himself from swallowing the large lump that was in his throat. “I didn’t…think you were coming.”

                “I didn’t think I was either.” She looked up at him, her eyes glittering behind the glasses she wore and totally destroying the stoic look upon her grim looking face. She was **worried** , and being worried like this wasn’t sitting well with her. She reached out to grab the cuff of his sleeve, grounding herself a little more and seeking something to tell her that it was just her imagination. That she hadn’t come here looking for answers. That she’d come just to have a good time and that her father pouring himself over the piling up paperwork of these odd attacks wasn’t scaring her to the point of near panic.

                Bruce grabbed her slender hand and squeezed. “I’m sorry.” He was sorry, sorry that she was smart enough to figure it all out, not judge him for it, and still fall victim to something other than those shadows that haunted them in the darkness of the night. How anything like that mad clown was around had to be some sort of sick unforgivable joke. Were he a cruel creature as his DNA intended in the books of man and the telling of the folk that surrounded him with their open disgust of his nature, many would be dead.

                He was glad he was not.

                “When are you not sorry?” She wiped at her face and sniffled a bit, ringlets of red spilling from either side of her head to crowd her face. “Dick’s not telling me anything…”

                “He can’t tell you anything. He doesn’t know all of it himself.”

                “…I’m scared.”

                “I’d be worried if you weren’t.”

                She nodded a bit, lifting her head to look at something other than his concerned face. “Are others coming?”

                “Anyone who accepted the invitation,” Bruce said. “Some of them should be arriving soon. I invited your father…”

                “He’s too busy trying to figure it out…”

                The Elder Gordon was a devoted man to his city, a man who would find nothing or stumble into something he couldn’t easily get out of. “As I figured. I do not know who all will be arriving, but Barbara…try to have a good time.” If there was nothing else he could do for his old friend, he could at least protect the one person that mattered most to him. Barbara didn’t deserve the blow given to her, and she didn’t deserve to be a part of such madness because the world wanted to announce itself to man once more.

                She squeezed his hand softly and wheeled herself away, back to the commotion of Tim and Dick trying to help Alfred as he barked off commands. Bruce watched her go, wishing things were different.

                “Master Bruce,” Alfred called, “You’re guests are beginning to arrive. Might I invite you to change?”

                Bruce walked off, headed for his rooms to do just that. “Make sure the boys show those who are staying overnight to their rooms,” he instructed. “I don’t want you overexerting yourself Alfred.”

                “Very well, Master Bruce.” Alfred turned and bowed to him like he tended to, though there was more fluency in his movements than the stiffness that old age brought. A flourish of his hand finished that sign of respect, as did the swift manner in which he rose and tapped his chin in thought.  “I suppose I should stop lollygagging and change myself.”

                He had a costume? “Oh? Are you dressing up as well?”

                “More like…dressing **_down_**...”

                Bruce stopped. Alfred was leaving, but the slight limp he’d grown accustomed to hearing was no longer present. Alfred paused long enough to look back at him, holding up a slight hand and winking as magic flared to life for the briefest of seconds. What was old gained the back the years lost to time, and Alfred walked off, ebony locks falling to grace his backside in a tied red sash. The youthful gait of a man with purpose hustled the stunned boys back into working order, in no silent terms telling them to keep their mouths shut about it.

                Bruce kept a startled snort to himself and headed for his rooms deciding to leave that alone for another time. He’d known Alfred was a rare breed of person, but he never once imagined this. It seemed there were still secrets that warranted the admittance of truth with the pending hour of midnight several hours away.

                He’d only made it several steps up when his heart lurched in his chest, bringing him down to his knees with a loud thud. Bruce tore himself from his shock, scrambling up the stairs with renewed haste as he scented the stars drifting within his territory.

                “…he can’t be…here…already…fuck!”

* * *

 

                “Clark??”

                Clark held his head, feeling like someone had knocked him twice for good measure with the back of a truck. That wasn’t a pleasant feeling, even when it did happen. He shook his head and ignored her inquiries, slipping out of the car and sauntering over to the back with the popped trunk.

                Lois grabbed her bags and he took his own, closing the trunk carefully as he looked about.

                “Wow…” Lois whistled to herself in appreciation, moving to get a better look around. “This is impressive.”

                It was Clark had to admit. The usual decorum of the manor was overwhelming to anyone who’d never come within fifteen feet of it. It was like a small castle on the outskirts of Gotham City, although this was not the case. The large span of land that the Manor sat upon was owned by the Wayne Name and was probably bought from the original namesakes of the Manor. Either way, it was a little intimidating if one wasn’t familiar with it.

                The lone fountain that sat as the centerpiece of the stairs leading up to the main door had been changed from the elegant bland it once was. The spout had been replaced with a very serene looking woman, staring up at the stars with her elegant hands tracing the curve of her marbled neck. Her head tilted back in ecstasy, eyes closed to the world around her, she seemed to lean into the embrace of something sinister upon her back.

                Demonic wings were spread to the heavens, the clear waters stained red and flowing from the wounds upon her arms. The base was black and condemning, a damning sight to anyone who held the bible close to their heart.

                The grass around them was dry rotted in several spots, namely were tombs were erected to stand at odd angles. The dirt beneath the heads was upturned and fresh, bones scattered around haphazardly along the grounds. A clawing figure stood still within one fresh grave, a snarl like no other upon the skull like features of its face twisted grotesquely. The tomb behind it read “Where no damned lies undisturbed”, and upon it was the laughing figure of a skeleton hanging off of it.

                The spiraling stair cases were draped in thick cobwebs and dead Ivy, thorns sticking out of the winding bark of the supposedly dead plant. Black roses appeared every few feet, sweet smelling and eerie under the fading light of the day. Their scent filled the air, alongside something sickeningly foul and morosely sweet.

                Clark shuddered openly.

                “Shall we go in?” Lois asked.

                Clark agreed and together they climbed the stairs that were spattered with spots of blood. Lois didn’t know whether to scream or giggle at just how real it looked. Clark chose to say nothing, not wanting to confirm it.

                The door swung open.

                Clark had a half a second’s notice before he was being pounced on by a very large teenage werewolf in Tim’s clothing.

                “You made it!” Tim exclaimed excitedly. “I thought for sure you wouldn’t come…”

                He didn’t know just how much the young man knew, but that stung more than it was supposed to. Still, he gently pried Tim off of his waistline, placating him with a ruffle of his head. He blinked when the ears that twitched didn’t fall off like he expected them to. Tim grinned a little at him, not saying anything about it. “Nope…I’m here,” Clark said deciding to let it drop. He’d figure it out later. “Lois is here too.”

                She gave Tim a small wave. “Hey.”

                “Hey, enough with the standing in the doorway,” Dick called from inside. “Bring them in!”

                More people were starting to arrive. Clark could hear the cars in the distance and those who were just a few moments away from parking on the grounds below. Tim grabbed his hand and Lois’s after a moment, yanking them into the Manor.

                The inside of the Manor had to be about ten times as eerie as the outside. Clark didn’t have time to get caught up in the details of it. He was busy exchanging greetings with several other guests, amongst them a man who looked remarkably like a young Alfred, Barbara Gordon, and Richard Grayson. Dick turned Tim back to the door, instructing him to keep greeting the guests. Barbara waved as she was pushed by the young looking Alfred clone towards the kitchens, which left him and Lois alone with Dick.

                “Come on…I’ll show you where you’re staying tonight.”

                “Are we in the same room?” Lois asked.

                Dick shook his head. “No. There are too many rooms for that. There aren’t that many people staying here tonight, no matter how much you may doubt it.”

                “Really?”

                “Really.”

                “And just where is the man of the hour anyhow?”

                Dick gave her a curious look, dismissing it and her question after a moment of debating. “He’ll be along soon enough.”

                Lois shoved her annoyance down, anticipation making her jittery with excitement as she thought about the night ahead of her. Her costume was ready and waiting the garment bag she had draped over her arm, just waiting the moment she decided to slip into it. She kept a small predatory smile to herself, wanting to get to her room quickly so she could change.

                Clark on the other hand, was busy fighting off the dizzying wave of heat that seemed to encompass him. He resisted holding his head, rubbing his eyes a bit as he followed Dick up the stairs and down another corridor. He didn’t realize what corridor it was until it was a little too late, stopping two doors shy of the master bedroom sitting in plain sight at the end of the way.

                “You’re in here,” he said to Lois. Dick opened the door and let her in, not surprised when she ran in and closed the door with a loud thank-you coming through. “Excited much?”

                “A bit,” Clark said, trying not to wonder at her behavior. “So…where am I?”

                Dick gave him a sly smile and pointed at the master bedroom. “In there.”

                “….you’re kidding. Right?”

                “I might be…but I don’t think so.”

                Clark sighed to himself, once again fighting the heat that didn’t want to leave him alone. He felt something tugging at his senses, an odd sensation that kept him staring at the doors in trepidation. He started moving before he realized it…and Dick watched in amusement as he walked off without his bags.

                “Doesn’t even realize it,” he muttered, grabbing Clark’s things. He moved them and left them by the doorway, patting Clark on the back. Clark took no notice of the parting touch, hands reaching out to press themselves against the wooden barrier.

                He hadn’t felt the wood beneath his hands but a moment. There was air there…and then fire. Pleasurable all-consuming fire that kept him lightheaded and not averse to the shaking hands that reached to grab his shirt and tug him into the room. He was swept up in the scent of bright red roses, their petals littering the grounds of the sinful dead beneath an exquisite creature that was wrapped in the form of Bruce.

                Bruce had not been expecting him. Not so soon. He’d only been in his room a few moments, contemplating a game plan and his costume before the overwhelming urge to fall had him forgetting just what he’d been doing. He’d turned to the door, the skies drifting into his open senses, the sun bursting on his tongue and driving him mad with a want he’d denied himself once and again. Indulging in it had nearly driven him insane, and it was an insanity he was willing to dive into if it were allowed. He’d wandered to the door, flushed and shivering, writhing when it was close…when it was pressed against his door, not knowing…

                Strong broad hands reminded Bruce about his state of undress, and how utterly he hated himself sometimes. He leaned into the caress of Clark’s hands, arms slipping around the broad shoulders and wringing a soft muffled moan out of them when he pressed them together. It hurt so good…and Bruce reveled in the strong rapid heartbeat against his ears. What time he had to pull away was lost when their noses touched, and the bright spark of forbidden passion flared and kept them locked where they were.

                “ _…this is **not** good…_ ” Bruce murmured.

                Clark might have been inclined to agree, had he not shut Bruce up with a kiss that landed them both on the bed.  

                Well Fuck.


	5. Spin, Spin, Spin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mr Darcy and Elizabeth are not to be trusted, Woody is here, and Clark decides he himself is an asshole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I'm actually writing another chapter after...four years? This is scary. I might actually finish this.

Spin, Spin, Spin…

* * *

 

                Everything was in full swing she mused, sipping lightly from her cup of “normal” punch. There were two bowls upon the table with the refreshments; one fragrant with something akin to alcohol and the other was wrapped in the sweet pickings of various fruits swimming in a vat of red. She’d almost gotten the other one, but Tim had drawn her away from it saying something about it being stronger than she would have liked. Dick had trailed behind him nodding his agreement.

                Lois licked her painted lips and glanced around the room. She could handle her liquor plenty, but for once she was glad she’d gotten the normal one. The smell of the other was enough to put her off of it, and from the look of it only a select few were waltzing up to that particular punch bowl. Of those who did, she noticed that they were enshrouded in their costumes completely covered from head to toe in some of the more elaborate get up she’d ever laid eyes on. It reminded her of the royal courts from a history book…where kings and queens and aristocrats walked around cascaded in bundles of fabric bunched into elegant dresses and garb. She wondered how anyone could walk about freely in such get up, and how they managed to move so gracefully.

                She took another sip of her punch. The music wasn’t loud as it was just noise at the moment. They were still setting things up in the spot designated for the DJ, bringing in equipment and hooking everything up to resound throughout the ballroom. The firm sounds of the **_Monster Mash_** kept people giggling, at ease with the atmosphere as they walked and talked amongst themselves. Everyone was in their costume, showing them off or comparing notes with others, or swapping items at will. She’d seen two princesses exchange crowns, a pirate swap swords with a Swami, and three faeries mingle their glittered dust to really twinkle in the dim lighting of the eerie atmosphere.

                Bruce had really gone all out. Truly. Lois found herself shivering unconsciously from time to time as she looked at the décor more than once. She had to remind herself that most of this décor was false, no matter how many times she swore that the webbing in the corners actually held spiders in them, or that the gargoyles sitting in one corner of the room seemed to move on their own. She didn’t quite dare go over there. It seemed like they were staring…breathing almost…

                “Wow, NICE costume!”

                She grinned a little, relieved of her thoughts and brought back to the party. “Thank you!” she said kindly. The guy who’d said it was dressed as Woody from Toy Story, tilting his hat upward as he greeted her with a grin worthy of that character. The toy horse he carried in his arms wagged its tail, barking once and greeting her with its own fanged grin. She giggled. “Nice prop usage.”

                “The little woman’s idea,” he winked. “She’s around here somewhere.”

                “Is she your Bo-Peep?”

                “That she is! The name’s Curtis.”

                “Lois. Lois Lane.”

                His eyes widened a bit in awe, but he quickly recovered, shaking her hand and letting “ _bull’s-eye_ ” have his say. Lois chuckled as the dog pressed its nose into her hand, wagging its tail a little harder. “Woo wee, I didn’t think we’d run into so many important people,” he laughed. “You do some good work missy!”

                “I aim to please. It’s not always easy,” she admitted.

                “No, I reckon not, but someone’s got to cover the news whether it’s pleasant or not. Usually it’s not, but I’d rather someone tell me the truth of the matter than to gloss it over. You know, like this big ol’ hoax thing they’re going on about.”

                Lois nodded, furrowing her brow in thought. “I know…and none of it makes sense.”

                “Got the likes of you baffled as well huh? Well, I suppose we’ll know the truth of the matter soon enough. Something like that doesn’t just appear and go away. It’s too weird.”

                Someone was calling Curtis, keeping Lois from responding. Curtis tipped his hat again. “Well, that there’s the little woman hollering for me. I’ll take my leave of you _Mistress_.” He winked playfully and walked off, leaving the scantily clad Lois Lane alone once more.

                More people were coming in. Lois looked around again, seeing no one she knew.  Dick and Tim were nowhere in sight, and she hadn’t seen Alfred at all tonight. The young looking butler that reminded her of him had vanished into the kitchen to finish off several things.

                Not once had she seen Bruce…nor had she seen Clark for that matter. She wondered where they were, absently smoothing out the already too-tight corset of her costume. It wasn’t hard to breathe in it but she wasn’t doing any heavy dancing if she could help it. Unless she was coerced. She smiled to herself and wandered around a little more, steadily avoiding that corner with the gargoyles propped up in it.

                “My dear…you are a _lovely_ sight….”

                Lois blinked, turning around as her hand was taken and kissed by a complete stranger that could have easily waltzed out of her dreams. She had not seen him before. Lois prided herself on knowing her surroundings and those who were around her, and this man she had not seen until this very moment. She wound have known if he was here. Someone with his magnitude of good looks did not go unnoticed. She was too stunned to snatch her hand back, blinking owlishly at the suave pearl white grin of the handsome man greeting her warmly. The back of her gloved had warmed itself right along with her cheeks, lingering in the unusually cool grip that had yet to release her.

                “W-who…”

                “Ah, forgive me,” he purred, bowing once to show his apologies. The faint twinkle of something in his ice-blue eyes made her forget how to breathe, though she inhaled a moment later and felt faint from the scent of this man drifting into her senses.

He smelt heavenly.  No one should be allowed to smell that good and wander about freely.

She smiled coyly at him when he straightened himself to his full height, still smiling at her in that suave manner that could make the most ornery of broads swoon. He kissed the back of her hand once more, slightly shoving more of his presence into her personal space. She didn’t mind it. “I simply could not let you waltz by me once more without saying something to you,” he said.

                “I…I haven’t seen you…”

                “I’m not normally one to be seen…unless I want to. For you my dear…I **want** to be seen, Miss Lois Lane…”

                How he knew her or her name wasn’t something she could bring herself to think about. She felt her eyes fluttering, her mind becoming fogged with this man. Everything about him was consuming in a pleasurable but odd flame that only licked itself higher the longer she stood in front of him. She shook her head and stepped back a bit, staring at him as he made no move to come closer.

                “I’m afraid I don’t know your name…”

                “Ah, yes. That.” He rolled his arm with flourish, bowing the greeting of a properly groomed Aristocrat. His gaze never left hers, and she failed to notice the hush of the world around her when he said, “My name…is Dorian.”

                Her heart stopped.

                Dorian smiled wolfishly at her, and the warmth of her blood became too much.

                The silence was overwhelming...

                His body pressed against hers…

                His cool hands tracing the lean curve of her neck…

                His breath chilled but puffed warm against her flushed skin…

                He smelt so **good** …

                “LOIS!!”

                The world came rushing back with such force that she almost fell when someone else came and snatched her hands. Her punch went flying to the floor, ignored as she brought her attention on a Werewolf tugging at her hands relentlessly. She followed, suddenly cold and shaking as she stumbled through the crowd.

                Dorian laughed to himself, and ignored the pointed look of a Demon sitting on the sidelines.

                “I dare say…this night might be fun after all,” Dorian mused. He looked slyly Jason’s way, blowing him a slight kiss that sent the demon within him raging. Dorian slipped back into the crowds, once again vanishing from the noticeable eye of the humans still laughing and giggling as if nothing happened.

                Jason moved from his spot among the gargoyles and headed for the kitchen to see about Lois.

* * *

                “…how…did that happen?”

                It was the first thing he had said in their entire time up here. Bruce kept himself from laughing, opting to lift his head a little and stare down at the slightly disheveled looking Clark staring at nothing in particular. Clark’s slightly glazed over eyes slowly came to focus on him, a look of incredulous curiosity seeping into them the longer Bruce let the silence drift on. He really didn’t know how to answer that question, as valid as it was.

                It was just as puzzling to Bruce as it was to Clark. He’d never in his entire existence gone into that white flare that seemed to overthrow what little inhibition he had left. If anything, he was the one doing the seducing, not tumbling backwards at a simple look and spreading his legs as willingly as other lovers had done for him. It was very odd indeed, but not something that warranted an answer just yet. There was still the matter of tonight.

                Bruce put his head back down, willing the hands that were warm against his bare back to stay where they were.  “I’m not sure why,” he said truthfully. And he didn’t know. He really did not know why coming into contact like this had caused a repeat of the event that had ripped their world apart in the first place. It just wasn’t in his nature to give in so readily to that other side of him, nor to let it out around someone who would never be his, no matter how much he might wish it so.

                It left him feeling rather exposed…and he didn’t think he could deal with it if Clark…” _avoided_ ” him again.

                “This is so fucked,” Clark breathed tiredly.

                Bruce face planted against Clark’s shoulder. “…please tell me you’re not making bad jokes now.”

                “Huh? Oh…ha. Funny.”

                “Not really. Clark…”

                Clark sighed deeply, pressing his hands a little firmer into the smooth and sculpted back belonging to a man that was currently lazily draped over him. His shirt was halfway up his torso, his pants undone at the fly and exposing parts of him that were still nestled warmly within the nude body that had yet to release him. He was warm and sated, and oddly boneless, a state he desperately wanted to stay in if nothing else but to avoid the awkwardness of talking and trying to figure out just what in the hell was happening.

                But they couldn’t stay that way.

                That soft mouth was on his before Clark could say anything or do anything to end this. Bruce’s tongue slid against his own, breathing him in as if there was nothing left to live for. Clark fell once more, ravishing that mouth, not knowing why but giving into the urge to reciprocate, stealing that unique flavor and storing it as if this would never happen again. He ignored the bereft feeling when Bruce’s mouth left his; kept the cold at bay as he lifted his hand to trace those kiss swollen lips.

                “Clark…Don’t leave tonight,” Bruce pleaded softly. “Just don’t leave…No matter what you hear, or see… **don’t** leave…”

                Clark pretended not to hear the deliberately left out “me” in that request, not used to seeing Bruce openly ask him anything. He nodded, closing his eyes as he was kissed chastely and reeling at the sudden pit of cold in his stomach when Bruce lifted himself and rolled off of him. Bruce stood with his back to him, sheets draping over the front of his torso; his hands clasped within them tightly and held to his chest.

                “…I promise to explain…later tonight,” Bruce whispered. “I’m sorry…”

                “Bruce…”

                That head of ebony shook itself. “I’m really sorry, Clark…You can use my shower when I get out, or…use another bathroom…if you wish.”

                He smelt salt. “…okay.”

                And just like before, Bruce left, and Clark was left in the bed, staring at the ceiling, denying missing that warmth, and pretending he didn’t hear that broken voice hitch in the bathroom once the door was closed.

                Clark palmed his eyes and decided that he, himself, could really be an asshole at times.

* * *

              Lois slumped down in the chair closest to her, shaking her head and groaning tiredly as she tried to snap her brain back into place. It had slipped into a puddle of mucked up noise that made little sense in the whirlwind haze that kept her eyes ticking back and forth uncontrollably. She closed them, never noticing how they seemed to roll back on their own as she leaned back, her hands grabbing at her throat when she let out an inexplicable moan.

                The needling of panic kept being washed away by the scent still in her nose…the melodic voice that flowed between the noises of now and then, breaking through that haze and demanding that she come. She swayed, falling forward hard and quaking, breaths getting shorter and harder to take the more she fought whatever was keeping her like this.

                “…sorry about this Lois…”

                Lois tried to turn her wavering gaze towards the teenage werewolf, but found herself shrieking as something cold pressed hard into her bare backside. She leapt out of her seat swearing, eyes blazing as they set themselves on the Masked Avenger standing where she once was with ice in his hands.

                “What in the hell was that for?!” she screamed. She swiveled around, lost and confused as she gathered that she was in the kitchen. But, how did she get here? Hadn’t she been at the party talking to that guy? Curtis? Her hand was empty, her back was freezing, and she felt like she’d run seven miles without stopping for water. Her thirst got the better of her, and she gratefully took the waiting glass from the young butler’s hands.

                He really did look like a younger version of Alfred. Truly. Did he have kin or something similar? A son maybe?

                “Lois, listen to me,” Dick instructed. He took her by her free hand, tugging her a little ways to duck into his personal space unnecessarily. She tugged back but he held firm, glaring at her in a manner that was eerily like the head of the Manor. “I’m not kidding!” he hissed. “This is important, and you need to do what I say right now.”

                “What is so damn important that you’re bruising my wrist?!” she snapped.

                “I am not!” Dick loosen his grip anyhow, but she still wasn’t getting anywhere without using those heels as weapons. Bruce would kill him, and then her, and then a certain someone if he didn’t make her see. “Listen,” he growled, moving directly into her line of sight and right past the point of her being comfortable, “There are people you need to **avoid** here. If you don’t, you’re going to pay a price you can’t afford. You don’t want that. I don’t want that. Tonight is not the NIGHT to get caught up in ANYTHING if you can help it.”

                The open fear in his eyes was enough to sober up whatever lingering fog was upon her mind. She straightened herself out, heels clicking a bit as she moved back, staring incredulously at the guarded glare of a masked Dick, aiming to keep her from fleeing by any means necessary.

                “Dick? Wha—”

                “Avoid anyone who looks like a cowboy, namely a Woody Character,” Dick instructed. “I don’t care what his name is; just don’t speak to him for more than a moment. Do not, I repeat, DO NOT talk to anyone who is dressed like they’ve stumbled out of Pride and Prejudice. Mr. Darcy is not to be trusted, nor is Elizabeth.” He sighed, irritated that he was saying all this but hating the fact that if he didn’t Lois was going to be… “And for the love of all that may be holy, do not…NOT….talk to any suave looking fucker calling himself Dorian. Okay?”

                Lois cringed and held her head. “Don’t talk to Do—“

                “Don’t even **say** his name. Speaking of names, people are going to know yours. Do NOT allow anyone, and I mean ANYONE to say your whole name. EVER. Shit, am I missing anything?”

                Jason, silent throughout the entire ordeal, coughed a bit to gain their attention. Tim was at his side glancing about nervously, his wolf like ears twitching with his movements. The young looking butler that looked like Alfred crossed his thin arms over themselves, muttering something in a language Lois couldn’t quite pick up. The tension was thick enough to cut with a saw if she had one. She wished she did.

                “I do believe you’re forgetting to mention to keep away from the gentlemen with the horns,” Jason said smoothly. Dick cringed this time, sighing irritably all over again as he rubbed the back of his head. “I don’t think meeting them would be pleasant for anyone.”

                “Ookay…is there anyone **else** that I’m forbidden to talk to?” Lois asked, highly alert and highly annoyed. She snatched her wrist back from Dick, rubbing it absently as she glared daggers at the whole lot of them. “I might as well not talk to anyone, not that anyone is explaining the reasons **why** I’m not supposed to talk to all those people. Is anyone going to, or am I going to wake up somewhere else with ice on my back and my head feeling like cotton?!”

                “That, my dear…is something you’ll have to wait on,” Jason said. “Until then…please listen to what Mr. Grayson is telling you. These people are not to be trusted.”

                “Then why are they here?!”

                “This is something none of us can answer,” the young butler supplied. “We are not allowed to say, but we are allowed to ward off the unwelcome. Saying things aloud within the Manor invites unwarranted attention, attention that we need not draw upon us yet. So please,” he pleaded softly, “bear with us Madam. We only follow Master Bruce’s orders.”

                Lois growled, slamming her glass down on the table. “I don’t believe this…! Where’s BRUCE anyhow?!” she screamed, whirling around to march herself up the stairs if need be. She hadn’t gotten three steps ahead of them when she was blocked by yet another person, this one wheeling her faerie-like self in the way of the entrance way with eyes that shouldn’t have graced the body they belonged to. She wasn’t going to get by Barbara. She never could get past the older Gordon either and it was telling who was related to whom in that respect.  It was more of a feeling rather than actual truth. Lois did not attempt to test that theory.

                Instead she spun on her heels again, this time being grabbed by Tim of all people. “Lois, please don’t get upset,” he said softly. “Bruce will be down shortly…and then you can yell at him, if you can catch him.”

                “I don’t understand any of this…why’d he—“

                “Protection comes in many forms,” Barbara murmured, “Even in invitations.”

                Now this was getting ridiculous.  These cryptic messages; people not to be trusted; the overall vibe of being creeped out beyond measure…and now her head was throbbing with the effort not to scream. Was it all some elaborate joke? Or perhaps a performance? She wanted to believe it; to laugh suddenly and watch them falter and say that they tried to fool her. She wanted to put her hands on her hips and demand to see the prankster behind this, and slap him upside the head just for the sake of doing so.

                But the cottoned feeling was real. She didn’t just develop a headache like this without slamming her skull into something, and that something couldn’t have been anything that she knew of. The last few moments before being chilled out of her stupor were still a jumbled mess that she couldn’t recall…but she remembered one thing.

                Someone’s cologne.

                She thought back on it…and her thoughts somehow slipped into the whereabouts of a certain billionaire again, and then upon her no show partner in attending crime, Clark. She still hadn’t seen either one of them, and for Clark that was highly unusual. Clark should have been down by now…

                He should have been here getting the lecture she was receiving, and making her feel like there wasn’t anything to what they were saying; that they were trying to pull a fast one on her and she was too obtuse to see right through it.

                Only…there wasn’t a playful eye in that kitchen.

                “...I hope you’re planning on telling Clark all this,” she murmured.

                “If Bruce hasn’t told him already,” Jason supplied.

                Knowing Bruce…he was probably being as cryptic about it as everyone else.

                She really hoped that they weren’t killing one another. She’d forgotten that Clark was dodging Bruce, and dragging him here had been a chore and more. She hadn’t seen him since she’d vanished to change into her costume which had yet to be seen by the man that it was intended for. Tonight wasn’t going the way she planned or thought about at all. It was getting weird, and she didn’t like the foreboding feeling that filled her when the actual music started.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've taken off the monitored comments and anonymous exclusion. If you want the next chapter, say so loud and clear. I may post it before you know it.


	6. Lies and Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bruce and Clark clash and come to the conclusion that they really need to talk...and Clark realizes Bruce has an honest to god tail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure you've all realized by now that no one is in character. Well, not totally. And I'm sure you're realizing this is not the new 52. I'm kind of just pushing this into the alternate realm of whatever the hell comes flying out of my head and winging it. Apologies for that, but yeah...it's just easier to think about it as its own realm. 
> 
> Oh...and anyone currently in hormone overload...grab tissues.

Lies and Truths

* * *

 

                The water shut itself off with a firm turn of his hand. Warm steam drifted from the heated tiles beneath his feet, obscuring his reflection within the shower doors. His wet head was pressed against the tile, a dull ache lingering where there had been a full blown spike of pain hammering itself into the back of his skull. His breathing slowed to normal, pliable lengths that could be considered plausible to anyone who hadn’t seen him several moments ago. His skin was warm and slick with the bath gel’s scent, overpowering the faint trace of someone other than himself and killing the cold knot that had taken residence in his chest.

                He almost believed himself when he managed to lift his head and not rub his eyes once more.

                Bruce stepped out of the shower, walking over the crumpled sheets sitting in front of the door. A red towel hung from his damp head of raven. There was nothing to keep him from his non-existent modesty, shamelessly walking over to the vanity mirror to snatch his toothbrush from its holder.

                The scrubbing was mechanic as was the normal motions of getting ready for the night ahead of them. His costume still lay somewhere upon the bedding outside of this steamed up room, waiting for him to place it on and show it off to the waiting masses below.

                It probably smelt of Clark…

                Bruce spat into the sink.

                He sat down again, curling himself against the cabinets. He willed the shivering to stop, head lolling forward as he muttered something to himself, his voice betraying him the longer he sat there saying nothing but feeling it spread until he could take it no more.

                Bruce  slipped forward and grabbed the edge of those sheets, inhaling that scent, face pressed within the fabric as he rested against the tile of his bathroom, ignoring the heated trails of tears seeping down his cheeks.

                It wasn’t supposed to turn out this way.

                The small wail escaped him before he could keep it to himself…and then…he just **didn’t** _care_.

                He wept openly…curling against the only source of warmth that had been there…by accident. It had to be.

                So, why did it hurt that much more?

                He didn’t know how long he remained on the floor. He didn’t care. The Night was still young and there was plenty of time to clean up and present himself properly towards his guests. They needn’t know of his anguish or sense his confusion about this unsettled matter. Clark said he wouldn’t leave, and he had to believe that. He had to hold onto that hope even if it was hallow.

                Even if…Clark never spoke to him again after tonight.

                He would have lain there some more but the door to his bathroom opened.

                “Bruce…”

                Every single curse he could fathom rose to come out of his throat. He couldn’t say them. He wanted to, but he just couldn’t say them. Rather, he kept himself where he lay, hoping beyond hope that he would just be left here to writhe in slight agony as his hunger returned with a crippling ripple of his stomach. He could feel the points of those hidden fangs pressing against his lips, piercing his bottom lip when he bit down in an effort to keep his moans to himself. It shouldn’t have comeback so quickly…

                He shouldn’t have been **_here_** on the **floor**! It was a disgrace…

                “Bruce!”

                None of it made sense. None of this was **normal**. It had never affected him in such a manner, and no one he’d known could enthrall him with such force that he was reduced to this weeping pathetic mess lying on his own bathroom floor. It was ludicrous; laughable to any other self-respecting creature of his origin, not that there was anyone else to compare notes with. By all rights Bruce should have just ignored it and went on with the world spinning alongside him. He should have just gotten up and went about his business, forgetting this union as easily as he’d done so with the many lovers that had fallen into the web of his desires.

                But he couldn’t. Bruce was lying here, staring at the sheet and the towel over his head, curling against the crippling hunger that reduced him to a moaning pathetic mess that had the taste of salt and mint lingering in the back of his throat.

                He surely would have smacked himself and the one who said he’d ever find himself weeping like a woman who’d lost her lover to another. What was worse…said lover was standing in the doorway, staring down at him like the lost puppy he was. Bruce let out a bitter laugh, shivering as his fears came to light in a cruel show. There was no one else who could sate him in such a fashion, and he loathed to herd one of the guests into his room tonight. He would not violate his room with another…not this soon. Not **ever** , his body screamed at him. He argued with it, but it was a losing battle. It had decided and that probably made it all the more worse than it could have been. Pressed painfully on the cooling floor, he resigned himself to his fate not once expecting strong arms to gather him into their warmth.

                Bruce opened his eyes to find himself seated in the arms of a Fabled Lord whose warm cruel hands dried what tears were left. He shoved, shaking his head vehemently only to melt when soft lips found the center of his brow. He hated his body then. He hated it for the simple fact that the hunger shut itself off with that simple touch and buried itself into that encompassing warmth that promised nothing. He couldn’t stay where he was not wanted, but it was oh so hard to move now.

                Not when the Futuristic Justice Lord was muttering his apologies…meaning them…and holding Bruce tighter.

                Bruce sniffled, rubbing his nose tiredly with his towel. “You tell anyone I cried like a bitch, I will end you,” he muttered. He didn’t truly mean it. He couldn’t quite carry out that malicious threat when he was clinging to the fancy garb of Clark’s costume. It kind of defeated the purpose. “I mean it, Clark…”

                “…I don’t get this Bruce…I really don’t,” Clark said softly. “But I know I can’t be an ass about it…again.”

                “Oh, how **noble** of you.” Bruce shoved himself out of Clark’s arms, sneering at the startled man from another world. “I don’t need your pity!” he spat, angry for what could have been the seventh time while he was in here.  “Don’t…just DON’T!!”

                “Don’t what?!”

                “Don’t come in here looking to make nice because you feel fucking guilty about it!”

                “That’s not **fair**. I didn’t come in here because I was—“

                “The HELL! I’ve got news for you CLARK,” Bruce screamed, shoving Clark back and pinning him to the floor in a moment of pure rage, “I’m not one to be toyed with! You’re not going to come and go as you please and leave me here wondering! I won’t tolerate it! Do NOT come in here apologizing unless you know what the hell you’re apologizing for! Don’t toy with me! Just Don’t!”

                Clark grabbed the hands that were pressing him down, anger getting the better of him for the first time in a very long while. He flipped them; slamming Bruce into the floor, not noticing that the floor had cracked under Bruce and the man was still moving to fight him. He shoved Bruce’s captured hands above his head, pinning the billionaire beneath him with little chance for him to escape that hold.

                “Clark!”

                “NO. You listen!” Clark snapped. “I’m **not** apologizing because I feel guilty! I’m apologizing because that’s TWICE we’ve done this, and TWICE I’ve let you walk away from me letting you shoulder that guilt. As much as you would **love** to be proven right about all this, you’re fucking **wrong**.”

                “And what the hell am I wrong about?!”

                “…that I **feel** nothing…and that I didn’t hear you the first time…” Clark admitted softly. Bruce visibly swallowed beneath him, refusing to admit that he was waiting with baited breath. Clark, for all he was worth, felt lower than a heel.  Bruce’s bright eyes shone with understanding and remorse, hating his self a little more for forcing Clark into this with his own careless words in the heat of passion. “You warned…but I didn’t listen…and you let me mar your heart… ** _again_**. How could you?” he asked, desperately wanting to know the answer. He had to know, needed to know if…this…“Why would you let me do something like that?!”

                “…because you’re not **mine** ,” Bruce whispered. He refused to look at Clark then, turning his head to the left and shutting his eyes. “You’re not mine…you’ll never be.”

                Clark shut his eyes.  “Bruce…”

                “Let me up…”

                “…No.”

                “Clark…let me up…NOW.”

                “NO. Why?! WHY did you SAY IT?!”

                “BECAUSE I WILL LOSE YOU!” Bruce roared, violently twisting himself under Clark’s grip. He wanted to go, leave this false lord here and find some solace in the darkness of the caves below. He struggled, nearly forcing Clark off of him until the Kryptonian reasserted himself and why he was named “Superman” when he was in tights.

                “What do you mean by that?!”

                “Exactly what I said! I will LOSE you…for no one should love this body…”

                “Stop talking in riddles and tell me the truth damn it!” Clark was at the edge of something, but what he couldn’t know and didn’t want to know if he were to dive into it. He would not fall into the mysterious nature of the one below him, gripping his hands so tight that they were white. “What is going on!? Why won’t you tell me?!”

                Fine. He wanted the truth? He could have it. Maybe then the idiot would leave and just let this die in the flames they were meant to. “Clark, I’m not HUMAN,” Bruce sneered. He hadn’t wanted to tell him this way, but Clark was being a stubborn fool about all of this. Clark did blink stupidly at him, relaxing his grip enough to let Bruce snatch his wrists back. If he thought that was shocking, the next part would have him flying out of here faster than Bruce could spit it out. “I’m not a human…and tonight something BAD is going to happen. I invited you here to keep you from getting slaughtered by them!” They, the ones whom roamed outside and in his halls, and those who would appear later this night with a bid he did not want to hear. He had to get him to see…to know just what he sought was not something simple to see. “My invitation given and accepted protects you from those who are my enemy. Tonight is the last night of freedom for humanity!”

                “What?!”

                “And as for why we **fucked** ,” Bruce spat, “It’s because I’m an **Incubus**.”

                There. Now it was out in the open. Bruce waited tensely for Clark to digest it, to get up and leave and just forget about him and what he’d said. He waited…and waited….and waited until Clark moved. He let a relieving sigh roll from his lips as Clark seemed to get up…but it was only his effort of moving forward to snatch Bruce into his embrace once more.

                “By the Elders, did you NOT hear what I said?!” Bruce barked. “I’m a **_demon_**!! You’re a fucking meal, Clark! A meal! That’s all!” If he didn’t want to stay, then he could leave, and perhaps he’d still have a fighting chance against this coming wave. Bruce snarled, his heart twisting itself into unspeakable knots as he fought the arms that he so desperately wanted to lie within. If Clark stayed…

                “Clark! LET ME GO!!”

                Clark only held him tighter. He heard the words being yelled at him, felt the sting they were meant to take when they hit him so callously. Yet, as he kept hold of the body yelling at him, punching him in the arms and trying to get away from something neither of them understood, he kept a firm hold on that night…the night that had changed it all for them…how he’d seen through the foggy haze of unexpected lust and the hidden truths under the well-built lies. It might as well have been yesterday he remembered it so clearly, and for Clark to have forgotten the whispered words tumbling from Bruce’s lips when he’d finally let himself go…

                “I’m not leaving.”

                Bruce finally slumped against him, exhausted, panting, and unsure of the next moment. Clark said nothing, and did nothing, until he felt the slightly larger man move his head to look him right in the eye.

                “…You don’t get to decide what’s best for me,” Clark said softly, but firm in what he meant by it. Bruce shut his mouth as Clark clamped his hands over it, forced to listen to the man. “No one does. I decide what’s best for me, whether it’s sitting here with you, or walking out of that door screaming that you’re insane. Believe me…the last part is looking tempting.”

                “Then why—“

                “Because it’s not fair.” It wasn’t fair that Bruce felt this way. It wasn’t fair that Clark couldn’t just wrap his head around it all and just let things be. It wasn’t fair that Clark was left hanging around in the dark with only cryptic words and invitations to guide him, and it most certainly was not fair that this had been thrust upon them so suddenly. “This” being their current state of mind and physical being, where Clark was still wondering about the delectable taste of the skin that should count as sin itself and Bruce hiding his fangs, not wanting to tell Clark the rest of it as he fought off the inexplicable desire and hunger this man tended to bring out within him.

                What they wouldn’t say to one another aloud, but thought about as they relented, was that it wasn’t fair to the woman downstairs that had slipped from their minds before and after this “attraction” had flared to life and left them a little more damaged than before.

                “You can’t have it both ways, Bruce.” Clark sighed quietly against the head of Raven that fell against his shoulder; the lithe but sculpted body going limp in his arms with nothing more than his fingers flexing to curl themselves in the fabric of his costume. “You can’t shove me away and then want me to be whatever you want. I can’t do that.”

                “One could hope,” Bruce grumbled.

                “And I can’t avoid you…or what I’ve been feeling lately. I know something is wrong…” Clark admitted when Bruce looked up at him. “I’ve been feeling it for the last couple of weeks…more so when you called me last week. And then the tips…and Lois…it’s just a bit much for me to take in…and I should have listened to you back then. For that…I’m truly sorry I did you that harm.”

                Not many people apologized for opening a locked door. Bruce knew it would ruin them, ruin everything he’d built, and Clark had fallen into the rubble of that disaster three untamed words had brought. Bruce had gone with him, and they did not surface without being unscathed in some manner.

                It did ruin them. What it ruined was the image of their bosom buddy relationship held at a distance until their jobs fell in stride with one another for various reasons. Bruce had reluctantly fallen away from the darker harsher and untrusting piece of himself, enamored by Clark and the idea of Superman, wariness of the unknown falling away the longer Bruce knew him. Bruce had been content to just simply be himself without having to cat-paw his way through every situation because there was always an angle to people’s agendas. Respect had grown to Trust, and Trust had grown to adoration…and that had blossomed into a feeling Bruce swore he’d never keep. He thought he could love at a distance and kept their image clean, but his natu re and tonight had been shoved ruthlessly down his throat and taking it out on Clark had only made things worse.

                How he still managed to wind up here, feeling warmth where there should have been none was perhaps a fate he would not question. He simply sat there gathered in Clark’s lap, cursing complex relationships as he wiped at his eyes and felt Clark’s forgiving laughter rumble against his side.

                “We still…need to talk,” Bruce mentioned lightly. “I have…a **lot** to tell you.”

                “We can…and I’ll listen,” Clark said seriously. He dared to press another kiss to the side of Bruce’s head. “I promise I’ll listen. We’ll figure this out.”

                “Hmm. Clark?”

                “Yes Bruce?”

                Bruce plucked at the white cape he’d failed to notice until now. “What in the hell possessed you to dress up as HIM?”

                Clark shrugged, gathered Bruce into his arms and helped him stand. “I thought I’d piss you off a bit,” he admitted. “Should I change?”

                “No. In fact,” he said looking at him evilly, “Do you want to see my costume?”

                Clark couldn’t quite bring himself to say no. He was too busy wondering why he’d never noticed the strange gold glow of those eyes as excitement seeped into them. Bruce had said he wasn’t human, but Clark didn’t think he was talking realistically…until he felt something warm wrap around his wrist. Bruce’s hands were still on his shoulders…

                And the last time he checked…Bruce **didn’t** have a tail.

                By the time Bruce was finished; Clark realized that the metaphorical musings of their conversation were indeed truth. He knew there were strange things about this world that made little to no sense, and that there was more to the universe than humans. Hell, he was proof of that notion. The only demon he’d ever been exposed to of this world was Etrigan, so it wasn’t too hard of a pill to swallow to realize that Bruce… **had** been telling the truth.

                He’d freak out about it later. They’d had enough drama for the allotted hour.

                Clark bit the inside of his cheek and said, “We’re not telling Lois about this… **ever**.” Bruce glared at him until Clark’s hand grasped the end of his tail and yanked gently. He shook his head, his eyes dancing wildly at the preordained images of a woman who’d seen some strange things freaking out over the reality of one of those horror stories come to life.  Bruce readily nodded, already dreading the coming hours before midnight. “So…you’re not going like that, right?”

                “What?”

                “ _Pants_ Bruce…you’re not wearing **pants**.”

                He really wasn’t. He was still quite naked and not for the fun reasons. “Oh. So I’m not. I should though…it’d piss you off. I wonder if Luthor came or not…”

                “Ha. Funny! Pants. NOW.”

                Bruce smirked a little and kissed the underside of Clark’s chin. “I’m full, so don’t worry.” He slipped out of his embrace, turning on his heel to walk out of the bathroom and put proper clothing on.

                “And just what does that mean?” Clark asked the fleeing backside.

                The billionaire demon looked back somewhat coyly, something else flaring in his eyes.  “It means…that I’m spoiled for any other body that may want me.” _Or that I may want…_

                There was no way Clark couldn’t know what that meant. He had the oddest surge of overwhelming possessive pride mingled with a small surge of lust that made his head swim. He decided to deal with it later, walking out of the bathroom and back into the master bedroom in time to see Bruce hold up his “actual” costume.

                “…you’re insane, you know that?”

                Bruce smirked wildly. “I’ve been called worse. Help me get in this so we can go. I’m already late.”

                Clark rolled his eyes and let them settle on an outfit sitting on the chair nearby.  “I…have a better idea.”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so like Bruce said...you tell anyone he cried like a bitch, he will end you.
> 
> And NO. He's not telling Clark everything...But the incubus part is true. Somewhat.
> 
> More on his features LATER. Kudos are welcome. Comments are welcome. If I made a mistake I'm human and not a robot and that should be enough, but I will fix it if pointed out.


	7. Illusions and Realities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Lord of the Manor finally makes and appearance, Lois needs to have her eyes examined, Tim calls it like he sees it, and Curtis is being an ass within reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So....does everyone have their drama hats ready?
> 
> Yes?
> 
> Okay, then toss them because they're not going to be enough to hold this drama.

 Illusions and Realities

* * *

 

                The soft light hearted atmosphere of the party had shifted violently to the left. The laughter, joking, and smiling had turned into something completely unnerving to anyone who still had a modest bone in their body. To anyone who wasn’t watching, that was trapped in that enthrallment that seemed to wrap its hands around each body and pull them down, this was perfectly normal. It was nothing more than bodies, the soft beat and sway of the tunes that were laced with something ethereal pushing them to move against one another in untamed desire.

                To Lois, it looked remarkably like that one scene out of the Matrix, only there wasn’t a lot of sweat, they weren’t in a cave buried under the ruins of the machine ruled earth, and Trinity and Neo were not at this party.

                She’d wandered back out here to keep up appearances, despite her head feeling like it had been shoved between to pillows and squeezed. Most of that feeling had receded thankfully. She’d opted not to get another punch, happy to simply stand there near the entrance leading into the corridor that would take her back to the kitchen if need be. Just a quick twist of her body and she could and would run at the first sign of trouble, or those people that she’d been warned about.

                Lois watched the masses join one another on the dance floor.  Glitter and black twirled and dipped low, false fangs hissed in ecstasy when they revealed themselves as bodies collided. Hands drifted upward and down, slipping into fabrics subtly, painted lips parting ever so slightly when hands moved to bring them closer, holding on tightly as everything swayed in that haze.

                She’d never seen anything like it.

                “They’re just revving themselves up,” she heard Dick murmur. She spied the masked crusader as he slipped in to stand close to her, eyes darting from the left and right much like her own. “Once the music starts…things always take on this…nature.”

                “Are all his parties like this?”

                “No. It’ll stop when he comes down, and begin again right before midnight. It’s foreplay.”

                “Where is he anyway? And where’s Clark for that matter?” she mused looking around. Dick shrugged, the cape on this shoulders fluttering with the movement. She couldn’t quite keep the amused look off of her face. The young man resembled an icon Bruce was partial to on so many levels. It was quite touching, and perhaps nostalgic. She fingered his cape a bit, keeping herself distracted from the unease she’d felt since she’d wandered out of the kitchen.

                The crowd that had come together parted of its own volition, albeit reluctantly as they saw when a woman tore her mouth from another’s, wiping their combined lipsticks with a gentle thumb. The youthful looking man that was near them seemed to purr in content, slipping his arms around the both of them and twirling them around to face the doors sitting at the entrance to the morbidly dressed ballroom they were in.

                The Dark Faerie in the wheelchair gagged openly, setting the young wolf aside her off in a fit of giggles.

                Everyone seemed to turn their eyes on the doorway as if they knew there was something on the other side of them. Even the DJ slowed his flow, the depth of the music taking on a new venue that stirred the blood in Lois’s veins. She held herself, fingers digging into her arm as the slow burn of anticipation and anxiety worked its way through her.  She tensed up, glancing at the doors, wondering and dreading what would come through them.

                The doors shifted, silently drifting open without assistance. The crowd silenced itself, parting instinctively. The presence of royalty washed over the room, and there was the distinct feeling of bowing one’s head or getting to one’s knee pulling at everyone. Most obeyed that feeling, and others resisted it, definitely tilting their head in regards to the one that graced them with a flourish of winds before appearing within their sights.

                There was a soft gasp from several people, and Lois nearly joined them when she realized who they were staring at.

                “Oh my god.” Dick palmed his masked face and ignored the open but quiet snickers from Barbara and Tim. “I wasn’t serious when I suggested that…”

                Lois’s eyes couldn’t get any larger, and she couldn’t squeeze her legs together any harder without sitting down. She squirmed uncomfortably, her chest suddenly too tight in her bodice.  She failed to notice that other people were in the same state, including several males that adjusted themselves discreetly.

                The young butler that looked like Alfred—she wondered where he old man was tonight— drifted into the open air. With a flourishing bow to the court, he presented the people who were standing within the doorway amused and/or unreadable.

                “Madams and Gentleman, may I present to you the Lord of Wayne Manor, Bruce Wayne, and his Honored Guest, Lord and Master Clark Kent. Rise and greet your Lord properly this night, lest you insult the House of Wayne.”

                The crowd rose and lifted their heads, enthusiastic applause breaking loose as Bruce and Clark walked into the room parting a bit further to allow them passage into the center of the ballroom. Murmurs of appreciation could be heard throughout the guests surrounding them alongside subtle but obvious disgusted grunts laced with jealousy.

                Lois bit the inside of her cheek, swearing up and down inwardly that she didn’t know Clark could look like that. He was striking and intimidating in that get up, a cold version of a certain man of steel braced with an unreadable face as he took in the crowd around him. His costume was an overall black one piece suit that hugged him in all the right places with bands of white circling his calves and his forearms. The cape shielding his broad shoulders was made of a fine white material that was connected to the S insignia also done in white, but bleeding red in underneath it. He stood tall and proud, arms flexing as he rested them at his sides.

                She was sure everyone was wondering the same thing. Was this some type of a joke?

                Bruce broke their skeptical and intent gazes as he moved elegantly around the stern looking Clark. Their focus came to rest upon the small lumps on either side of his head, a muted version of what should have been, or a prelude to what would be. There was no way to tell, not that anyone would try. The white poetic shirt that he wore was opened halfway, revealing the smooth sculpted chest that rose and fell with everyone’s heartbeat. Perhaps the sinful part of it all was the tight leather pants that looked to be painted onto the taut legs laced with bountiful muscle. He shouldn’t have been able to move in them, or the high heeled boots he wore, but he proved them wrong, gliding forward, arms lifted into the air to greet them with a smirk worthy of the devil himself.

                If they noticed a tail swinging back and forth freely like the slithering body of a serpent behind Bruce, no one said a word about it or pretended that they were seeing things.

                “I bid my guests welcome to my Manor this night,” Bruce purred, the tip of his tongue snaking out to lick the corner of his mouth. He laughed deeply, head tilting back a bit as the dull thud of two bodies hitting the floor reached his ears. The lightweights never could handle events like this. “I thank you all for attending. Please, enjoy yourselves one and all, but be warned…” He paused long enough to eye the crowd, his glowing gaze roving until he spied the unnoticed body glaring daggers at him from a distance. That body shifted uncomfortably, sneering his way as Bruce locked their gazes, daring him to do anything that would warrant a public war. “My guests are not to be touched, enticed, or persuaded in any manner. Doing so…will make me quite upset…and you don’t want to see me **truly** _upset_.”

                “And if they are willing?” someone asked.

                Bruce snapped his gaze to the one who asked, beckoning that body closer with no more than a flick of his wrist. The young man stepped forward, the makeup upon his face shimmering with the uneasy sweat that he broke into. Bruce seized him by the thin material of his shirt, bringing him uncomfortably close.

                “If they are willing,” he hissed, “Then you will STILL suffer. No one will die of naivety this night, I assure you.”

                He shoved the young mime away with ease, smiling again but with no less malice than before.  “If there are no more absurd questions…then let the festivities begin!”

                The DJ simmering in the corner smiled wolfishly at no one in particular, hands flipping the record with ease and bringing about the loud mesh of dance music that set the crowd in motion again. People started dancing, grabbing partners from left and right. Those who didn’t dance were smiling and giggling again, as if their little orgy hadn’t commenced moments before Bruce’s arrival. People broke off into groups, talking amongst themselves or whispering fiercely about something or another, eyes darting back to Bruce who ignored them and put his focus on Clark still standing aside him.

                “So, will you save me a dance for later, my Lord **and** Master?” he teased.

                Clark’s brow rose a bit at the question. “Like you would give me a choice?”

                “I would…but I would insist upon it.”

                “I’m sure you would. Is there anything else I should know before the night drags on?”

                 The billionaire nodded slightly, moving to press himself close into the Justice Lord’s side. Head tilting inward, he shifted to settle himself into his arms, breath hot and cold against Clark’s neck. He whispered his warnings, lips barely brushing against the warm skin flushing with blood the longer they stood together like this. He couldn’t quite help it. Being near this man always managed to undo what little resolve he had maintained. It was one of the reasons he’d never gotten but so close to the child from the heavens. He smelt divine, and while he was loath to ever thinking about it, his blood must be of the same quality. If it was anything like the sex…

                He shuddered, flush with blatant desire much to his ill timing and distaste. He pressed himself against the Justice Lord a little more, breathing deeply and trying not to bring Clark to the ground to ravish him senseless.

                “I thought you said you were ‘full’,” Clark murmured.

                “I am…but it’s a little different when it comes to you,” Bruce admitted. “I can’t help but want seconds…and _thirds_ …”

Clark’s arms tightened a bit in warning, but Bruce stayed, discreetly nipping the soft flesh of his ear when he was done. “I won’t,” he promised. “You have my word…for what it’s worth.”

                That was going to have to do for now. Clark kept his arm loosely around Bruce’s waist, suddenly glad that he’d talked him out of what he wanted to wear beforehand. He really didn’t think that Batman hugging up on a Justice Lord was going to do much more than fuel unnecessary fires. Bruce had slipped into his second costume of choice, revealing a softer feature of himself that hadn’t been there before. The clothes were readily in the closet, but the stunted horns gently peeking out of his tousled waves of black were all him, no wires or bands required.  They were small slightly yellowed points of bone that didn’t draw but so much attention to them, unless he moved his head. He’d left his tail out in the open, convinced that no one was going to question him about it. It was, after all, Halloween. Much of what was seen on this night was up for speculation, and few knew the truth.

                Clark was privy to a part of the truth. It had slammed into him without warning, but now he had a better handle on it…somewhat. He still felt the need to freak out properly, but that could wait until the night was over and they weren’t being stared at by so many people. Amongst them, he noticed with a painful twist in his gut, were Lois, Dick, Tim, and Barbara torn between emotions.

                 Barbara, dressed as a Dark Faerie, looked as if the cat had the canary dipped in cream and ate it. Tim was all canines, smiling broadly under an open smirk that could be interpreted as anything. The teenage werewolf let his ears do all the talking, pricked forward and attentive to what was being said around him. While he was amused, he was still doing his job: listening out for the ill intending. Dick was more amused than annoyed, although he had every right to be having waited this long for them to show up. Bruce couldn’t quite stop himself from grinning a bit at him, seeing his son dressed up as the Grey Ghost, an icon he’d long adored.

                 And then, there was Lois; Lois who was stunning in the Black laced bodice that hugged her frame lovingly, with a long flowing black skirt that was slit high to reveal the long supple leg dressed in gartered fishnet stockings. She stood on slender shiny black pumps that lifted her a good three inches, elongating her already fair frame. She looked like the dark goddess that had walked out of the gothic runway show, lips painted black and eyes shadowed in silver and purple. Her long hair fell in waves against her bare shoulders, tickling the back of her neck which was garnished with a black widow spider choker.

                 Lois was holding herself tightly, not knowing whether to be amused or hurt.

                 “Awkward,” Tim sung silently, moving out of the way of Barbara’s jibing elbow.

                 They didn’t get the chance to properly digest this. Dick strode forward and placed his gloved hands on Bruce’s shoulders. “When I said come as is, I didn’t mean for REAL,” he hissed. The corners of his lips twitched in laughter though, well aware of Bruce’s contempt for hiding himself this night. “Most of these people are mortal!”

                 “And believe in the theatrics of well spent money,” Bruce smirked. “As far as they know…it’s all wires and cybernetics. I love your costume by the way.”

                 “You would. And YOU,” he said turning to Clark; “Why in the hell did you dress up as HIM?”

                 Clark jerked his head in Bruce’s direction. “To piss this one off. It didn’t work.”

                 “I gotta hand it to you smallville,” Lois murmured, completely at a loss with her conflicting emotions. Clark’s hand had yet to slip away from the perch of Bruce’s waist, and the billionaire was making no inclinations as to when or if he would declare it was all a joke and pull away from the man laughing. In fact, it only looked like the billionaire leaned closer. But that couldn’t be. “You really pull off the Evil Superman look…I’m **mildly** impressed.” Her head was still throbbing a bit from before, so she laid the blame on what she was seeing on it.

                 Clark didn’t say much on it. There were things she still hadn’t quite figured out about him and he wasn’t about to confirm or deny anything. It was amusing and sad, and when he thought about it he was kind of glad he never got around to telling her about anything outside of Clark Kent.

                 He shrugged, turning to Bruce and ignored her annoyed huff. “You want something to drink?”

                 Bruce fixed his smile to be a fraction of what he felt. “Sure. Get it from the second bowl, if you don’t mind,” he instructed. “It’s a special blend,” he added when Clark gave him a questioning look. “Alfred makes it for those who’ve acquired such tastes…”

                “Ugh, that stuff smells foul,” Lois muttered.

                “It should…to a virtual sheep.”

                 The Woody cowboy was back. Curtis. He’d slipped in without being noticed, startling them all into their ingrained responses to such silent threats. Dick fought hard to keep his hidden daggers strapped to the inside of his wrists. Tim’s hands grabbed Barbara’s shoulders, and her hand slipped away from the hidden gun holster in the chair she was confined to. It came to rest in her lap, clutching something else that would make the man bleed if he should even blink the wrong way.

                 Bruce remained where he was, staring coldly at the man.

                 The little dog in his hand was steadily growling in Bruce’s direction, teeth bared and threatening to snap. Curtis kept a calm hand on his little head. It did nothing but settle the dog down a decimal. The dog did nothing to startle Bruce or his company, but the slight flash of jewelry upon his stroking fingers did. Bruce all but hissed; darting back into Clark and snarling at the man smiling handsomely as if nothing were wrong.

                “Nice to see you again, friend,” Curtis greeted. “I trust your affairs are in order, I reckon.”

                “You dare bring such foulness into my home?!” Bruce spat.

                “What? Oh this littl’ ol’ thing?” He lifted his hand and admired his ring.  It was nothing out of the ordinary, but it unsettled Bruce in such a way that it was frightening. “You could call it insurance protection on my part. I don’t go many places without it…especially to places where the sheep are **slaughtered** at midnight.”

                “My home is not a ground for butchered sheep. I’m no shepherd to lead the lambs into the mouths of raving wolves.”

                “And here I thought you’d invited me to come save your little souls,” Curtis chuckled darkly. He tipped his hat upward, the gentle glint in his eye cold and hard, aching to do something that involved more than talking. “I don’t know why you invited me, friend…but mark my words, it was a mistake.”

                “My mistake,” Bruce snarled quietly, “Is going to spare your petty life for what it is worth. You’ve no idea of what will occur tonight…what is at stake!”

                “And what reason is there to spare me, if such travesty is to awaken on this night? Hmm?”

                “….Rose asked me to.”

                Curtis’s eyes flared in anger. The little dog yelped as he was squeezed, squirming to be free of the crushing grip Curtis had adopted. “You put my baby’s name in yer mouth again, and to hell with tonight. You’ve got no right to speak her name, WAYNE. None whatsoever!” If it weren’t for the little dogs pitiful and fretful whines, he might have moved closer, and done more than squeeze the air out of his dog. He was prepared to take that step, to hell with what would befall him. Bruce knew it, and Curtis made sure he saw it.

                Bruce looked away from the man, guilt seeping into his eyes.  “I didn’t kill her…”

                “No.” The cowboy shook his head, smiling bitterly at the billionaire leaning into Clark’s grounding embrace. “But you should have…when she was **human**.”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drama!!
> 
> Kudos, comments, and demands for the next chapter are welcome.


	8. To err is Human...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lois asks to many fucking questions, no one answers them, and wolves and fae make their loyalties known.

To err is Human…

* * *

 

                “…what do you mean when she was human?”

                Lois’s question was innocent, and what broke the tension that had griped the lot of them. Curtis blinked, and slowly looked towards the woman who asked that innocent but absurd question, lest she didn’t know about any of what was going on around her. Lois had that look about her, the one of a woman who wanted answers, and would do just about anything to get them. She’d clamped onto something, much to Bruce’s chagrin, and wasn’t about to let it die easily. Curtis, the over grown cowboy with rugged looks to match his demeanor and speech, was one to give those answers if he saw fit.

              This was something the cowboy and Bruce reluctantly agreed upon not to tell aloud.

              “Well?”

               Curtis shook his head at her, denying her the story and the happenings that swirled her pretty head. “No darlin’,” he said thickly, swallowing the sudden lump in his throat, “taint a story fer you ta listen to dis night ‘ere. What you should know…is that monsters are **real**.” He glared Bruce’s way, unaffected by the glint in those too bright eyes daring him to say something more. He wouldn’t. As much as he hated the thought of sparing him, Curtis was bound by his invitation…and there had to be something else to all this besides a vow.  Something that Bruce wasn’t going to tell him until it was much too late.

               “Monsters are real?” she repeated. “What do you mean by that?”

               “Exactly what I mean,” he grinned tightly, eyes trained on Dorian sauntering through the human crowd behind them. He was trying to pick out something or eavesdropping, and while Curtis wasn’t done with Bruce, he wasn’t letting that vampire out of his sight. “Some of them…live **right** under yer nose. ‘Scuse me.”

                He left them, wandering back into the crowd towards a worried looking Bo-beep standing a fair distance away. Curtis shook his head at her, taking her by the arm and directing her to another part of the ballroom, toward where Dorian was and away from the glares of Wayne and his wards. Clark was completely confused, as was Lois. They’d missed something important, and there was the sick feeling that a lot of it had to do with a certain assignment they couldn’t make heads or tails of.

                “I don’t get why you invited him,” Tim said quietly.

                “…it’s the least I can do,” Bruce said. “Rose asked…and I keep my promises as best I can.”

                “While that’s noble of you,” Lois snapped lightly, hands falling to rest hotly on her hips, “Maybe you can explain why the hell I have to avoid so many people in this place. And where were you?!”

                There was nothing worse than an angry woman within a room full of several or more blood sucking demons. Her blood was racing, and the heat of her temper only drew the attention of the more aggressive ones who were only willing to try and enthrall once before taking what they desired. Bruce could smell their foul intent clouding the air. Within that ugliness, he could sense and smell the one he despised most lurking within the sea of countenances oblivious to what walked amongst them.

                Bruce was in no mood to play the placating host, but he also liked to keep those whom mattered most to him from the fangs and lips of the damned that could not control their bloodlust. He grabbed her hand from her waist, yanked softly, and pulled her to rest flush against the bare skin of his exposed chest. Delicate gloved hands braced the woman attached to them against solid muscle, heat and warmth soaking itself into her body to leave her lightheaded and faint. She caught herself before her head could fall on his shoulders, half lidded eyes peering at him in a mixture of horror, confusion, and undeniable want.

                Had this been a time where he had not touched the one who’d plagued him so, Bruce might have whisked her away to taste of her flesh once more.

                “Lois…you’ve heard of being fashionably late,” he rumbled, laughter tickling her senses and making it hard to think. She felt her lips twitching upwards, a giggle working its way up as his hand found her chin. “As for why and where I was…Clark and I had to talk.”

                “C-clark…and you had to….talk?”

                “Yes.” He leaned back a bit to look at the Justice Lord staring at them intently, hands itching to do something they didn’t fully understand. He winked his way, calming the sudden flare of jealousy before it could spark itself for nothing. He had no intentions of deluding the woman in his arms, but protecting her…would probably mean the same thing in the end. To lie and lie again was how one kept certain truths from ever being known.

                And sometimes, even when the truth was staring at someone right in the face, lies seemed to make more sense and hurt less.

                “We had to come to an understanding about something…it just took longer to hash it all out than we would have liked.”

                A whole two hours…and half of that time was busy yelling at one another to try and figure out where the other was coming from. Clark snorted softly and folded his arms over his chest. Sure, they’d talked, but not nearly enough. There was still the whole Incubus thing to work out and whatever else that Bruce wasn’t telling them. He knew that the man he’d known for some odd number of years didn’t divulge information unless it was necessary or forced out of him. Rare was it ever forced. The man was a natural strategist, playing both sides of the coin until the outcome was something he could live with.

                Now was a time to just follow the flow of wherever Bruce was taking this. He knew more about this, whatever “this” happened to be, and knowing the man as well as he did, Bruce would indeed keep his promises and do anything within his power to keep them safe. From what, still remained to be heard and seen.

                Right now however, Clark agreed, smiling at Lois looking at him in question. “We talked,” he admitted. Oh, they talked, amongst other things. He still couldn’t shake the dizzying kiss Bruce left him with before they’d come here nor the feeling of possessiveness that made it hard to let them stay like that. “We still need to work some things out, but we’re okay…for the moment.”

                Bruce heard the silent warning unsaid and nodded tersely. He backed away from her a bit and waited for Clark to relax. He was going to have to explain all of it…soon. “I promised, didn’t I?”

                “Yes. I know.” Yes Bruce promised, but that ill feeling was settling in Clark’s senses, making him uneasy and irritable. He didn’t like knowing that he was in the middle of something that could possibly end their existence without knowing the specifics. Like these avoidances. “Now what was this about people being avoided?”

                Ah. The ugly matter of the evening rearing its nasty little head. Bruce grimaced a little in disgust, his nose wrinkling as if he’d smelt something fouler than what was around them. “There are always non-pleasantries at a party,” he explained. “I have a few here…one of whom has probably tried his hand.”

                “And failed, thanks to Tim,” Dick mentioned. He patted his younger brother on the shoulder with pride. “He snatched Lois from…he-who-shall-not-be-named…before he could truly enthrall her.”

                “That bastard is going to make me loose what little temper I have!”

                Clark’s hands shot out of their own volition to ease the raging demon spitting nails. “Easy Bruce…”

                “Clark, you have no idea of just how annoying that bastard is,” Bruce muttered. “Damn it all, if he weren’t related…I’d have killed him **_decades_** ago!”

                Lois wasn’t sure if she heard that right. She was still pressed against Bruce, although it was more of a response to his sudden flare of anger than out of actual passion. She tapped him to remind him that she was indeed there, smiling wolfishly at the slightly annoyed look he tried to hide. “Did you just say **decades**?”

                Lois and her wolf like tendencies were going to drive him nuts tonight. “Lois…”

                “And you still haven’t explained just why we need to avoid these people.”

                “Lois…”

                “And, might I add…this is just a tad too creepy, even for someone like YOU.” She motioned to the entire room, speaking of the outside as well when she pointed in the direction of the entrance. “I want some answers…before I die preferably!”

                “And you will get them. LATER.” He shushed her with a hand over her mouth, clamping it down when she tried to talk again. She stomped her heel. He moved his foot and glared at the put out look. “For now, just relax, avoid those people…and have FUN. Okay?”

                “How—are those horns on your head?!“

                She would notice those. Even Clark hadn’t noticed them until Bruce had kissed him before coming down here. “Fancy schmancy doo-hicky thing. Life like, right?”

                “…too life like. Um…so you and Clark talked? About what?”

                “Never **_mind_** Lois,” Clark said. He loved the woman, too much, but sometimes she asked too many questions about things she had no business in. Maybe that’s why she got into so much trouble. “It’s not a big deal right now.”

                “It’s not,” Bruce added when Lois gave him a skeptical look. “For now, would you care to dance?”

                If he knew offering her to dance would have lit her up and stopped the onslaught of questions, he might have asked her several moments ago. She slipped her delicate gloved hand into hers, smiling like a woman who’d managed to score a dance with the hot guy. Well, she wasn’t far off. She forced herself to simmer down a bit, willing the heat in her belly back down.

                They walked away from the others, Bruce pausing only to whisper something in Clark’s ear.

                Clark was left trying not to blush, staring at the tail that swung itself back and forth in time to the slight swing of Bruce’s natural walk.

                “So…” Clark turned back to the others, still standing there somewhat awkwardly. Barbara wheeled herself up to him, taking his hand in her laced one. She smiled faintly, giving him the once over. “…you want to dance with a chick with her own personal chair or what?”

                It was a way to break the ice, and it shattered into tiny pieces that melted when Clark grinned and said, “Only if you don’t mind me stepping on your wheels.”

                “…you’re not upset that he’s not telling you anything, are you?” Tim asked.

                “…not as much as I was,” Clark admitted quietly. “I still wonder…just what’s so terrible that he had to invite us here. And if it’s so bad…where are the others?”

                “Clark…He really just wanted us to have fun tonight,” Dick said softly. He looked in the direction of his adoptive father, smiling as the billionaire seemed to let loose and actually have fun. He remembered the other question, shaking his head a bit as he thought about the answer. “The others…should be safe tonight. He was more worried about you than anything else…and Lois, because he was convinced you loved her more than anything. Is that still true?”

                Clark, for once in his life, wasn’t so sure about that now. From what he was seeing, that smile on her that once meant the world for him to see was directed at Bruce, and Bruce’s eyes kept drifting from her to him.

                “Again…awkward…”

                This time Dick slapped Tim upside his head.

* * *

                “You’re giving up the ring?!”

                Somewhere in the back of his mind, John knew that giving up the ring like this was foolish. But right now it was the only reason he could not fight where he truly belonged. It had been quite a long time since he’d felt the pull of his home calling back sweetly, desperate and in need of her children. The ring had a song all its own. It sung of the outside world that wrapped itself around the earth, the universe as one and many, and urged those who held its power to fend off those that sought to destroy all. All was too infinite now. The ring protected everything with its power through the will of its chosen wielder, but this piece of space had no place within his home at this given moment. It would not protect them from the ancient rites of the coming night or what would befall them if he did not leave now.

John squeezed the ring one last time and gently placed it into the shaking hands of the Guardian before him. “It will not help me now. It can’t.”

                The blue guardian looked between the ring and the man handing it back to him. The glow of John’s eyes was staring to fade but they didn’t fall into the black onyx depths he’d looked into when they’d first picked him. He was so bitter, littered with darkness from wars he was forced to fight in, the haunting memories of fallen comrades falling hard on his strong but slumping shoulders. He’d been rash, hateful of authority, free spirited…but contained an element that allowed the ring to choose him.

              He’d been through so much…losing his wife twice, watching the resurrection and fall of the Corps more than once, being powerless in a dire time, and a vital part of why they were standing here, now, watching in heartache as the man they’d come to respect…love even, gave them a bitter-sweet smile with a small salute on his part.

              The guardians bowed their heads in their deepest respects, unable to do much more than watch as he left them in their light, wondering if they would- ever see the ex-marine again.

              The Guardian left with the ring closed it within his hands, clutching it tightly to his chest. This ring, alongside another sitting within their private chambers, would see no other hand than the one it belonged to. They still had the young one to fall on, though he too was grieving quietly from where he watched with the remaining Green Lanterns. It would never be the same.

              It wasn’t all that long ago that Hal Jordan had left them. While it was a significant blow to their functionality and their whole, they’d had John, Kyle, and Guy to fall back on.  Hal was standing in the entrance of the hallway lost in thought and silent from his memories of his time here, chin lifted in an attempt to keep himself peaceful. His time here wasn’t something he readily gave up for the hell of it. He had a job to do that could and would not allow him to harbor two realms. John was a part of that job. John had a choice to make, and while he could have easily declined and remained here, he knew his duty.

               John walked towards him with his head held high. Hal bowed his head, eyes cast down until John clapped his hands on both shoulders and forced him to look up. It was no one’s fault. What had started as two lonesome people trying to make their way in the world had become a whirlwind journey that led them to here and now with the blessings and memory of another to bind them. Hal scrubbed at his face, eyes red rimmed and tired and John squeezed him close with an arm to convey his sorrow.

               This place would never leave their hearts. It made them brothers in arms and allowed them to be stronger than they ever could have imagined. This had been home for quite a long time…but now, it was time to run.

               “Is he with them?”

               “Wally’s there, waiting,” Hal assured.  John nodded and allowed the soft gleam of his red eyes to meet Hal’s golden ones. “They’re all waiting.”

                There were things within this universe that could not be explained. The guardians who’d been around since the beginning of time could not interfere. Earth was its own place, mysterious and cunning in her ways and shielding herself from the universe once more. Her forgotten children were resurfacing. A new age was upon her. The light of the universe and all those who’d sought to claim her as their own was being shut out. There was no longer a tower to watch over her, no longer a team to interfere with attempts to control that magnificent sphere. The heroes that had been had moved on as had time.

                It was calling them back…and they could not bring what had kept their natures at bay back with them.

                John was the first to turn, patting him on the shoulder roughly. “Come…the pack waits,” he rumbled, shivering in anticipation as the light of the moon filtered through the metal halls. Hal nodded, gave them a final bright smile filled with sharp teeth, and ran to join John as they raced back to the earth.

                “…why did they leave?” Kyle murmured softly.

                The one guardian who held the ring to his chest, said, “The wolf in them decided it was time to run free.” He wiped the single tear from his face. It was inevitable. All things are inevitable. “I wish you two the best.”

                Twin howls answered him in the distance fading until there was nothing more than the hum of the core lamp to comfort them.

* * *

              “The wolves are gathering to reform their scattered packs,” Alfred said.

                Jason nodded, popping something that looked a little too much like something unpleasant into his mouth. Thankfully it was sweet and a far cry from what one would think it to be. It was a bit disturbing to wonder afterward what a real eyeball tasted like. “They are restless. The old ones are coming back to preserve their species, even if it means shredding a vampire or two in the process.”

                “Summer and Winter courts remain as they are,” the youthful butler said softly. He tucked a strand of his jet black ebony hair behind his somewhat pointed ears, sighing wistfully and in relief of such admittance. “I sincerely doubt the fae would try to reassert their selves when they’ve been silent for so long. One trying to assert itself would call attention from the other…and wars without the fae are bad enough.”

                “How long have you been fooling the young one?”

                “Pfft, since he was born to this world.” Alfred leaned on his young hand, toying with the cup that sat in front of him. “I’ve always watched over him…grown with him. His mother and father loved him dearly, they did…and after…”

                “Mmm…the nightly courts howled that day. Hell itself rumbled in rage.”

                “That it did. Time comes to reclaim the days of darkness…and I refuse to let smug bastards like… **him** …steal what little happiness my master has left.”

                They were speaking of Dorian. His was a name that wasn’t easily said in this house without angering Bruce.  He and Dorian had a sordid history, one that started not long after the demise of the former Master and Mistress of the household. Jason didn’t know much more than what he’d been told or heard in rumor, but he knew that the Elder Vampire was not liked and would not be allowed here if he were not of some relation to Wayne.

                Why the Elder vampire was here was something they both dreaded. The night was quickly climbing to the hour of twilight, the mystical chime that would enable the shift and bring about darkness. It was long coming with the sins and mistakes of human kind. Humans would be thrust into the fray, reminded of their place in the world according to those who sought to herd them. Some would escape the extremists, but they would be forced to acknowledge that the beloved dark images of their fantasies were real.

                It was also an excuse for the Vampire Courts to declare it open season on one another. If they did that, the wolves would get involved. They didn’t handle vampire squabbles on their territories well at all. And it would all come to pass if the Clans decided to unveil themselves.

                It was one big mess…and Bruce was going to be caught in the middle of it because of what he is.

                “I didn’t think it possible once,” Alfred mused, letting his eyes roam toward the source of the loud sounds coming from the ballroom. “I didn’t believe Master Thomas could find love as he had with Martha. A vampire such as himself had been alone for so long…and in swept Martha…a succubus with an honest to god heart. She changed him a great deal…sired the Master out of that union.”

                “It wouldn’t have been possible if Thomas didn’t love her,” Jason mentioned. “Love is a powerful tool.”

                “And a weakness that kills you if you love too hard…and I fear the master is falling much like his father did. He tries to shove it all aside, keep himself away from it to keep them from being hurt…but he can no longer deny his nature or what he is. I only hope that Master Clark realizes that he’s not going to be able to go anywhere for a long time…it would kill Master Bruce.”

                “Figuratively?”

                “Literally. His body’s chosen.”

                Jason’s brow shot high into his forehead.  “Only a Wayne.”

                “Indeed. We should ready ourselves….midnight is fast approaching.”

                Jason nodded, slipping out of his chair and finishing the rest of his tea.  “For fae, you sure know how to make a nice cup of tea,” he mentioned.

                “I also know how to remove a man’s heart from his body without him even knowing.” Alfred smirked a bit and offered Jason a napkin, slipping it into his slightly slack hand as he patted his cheek. “No one’s going to do anything that I disapprove of tonight. That much, I assure you.”

                Jason didn’t know who to be frightened for. Himself, or the elders that would were approaching the grounds. He decided on the latter as he watched Alfred stroll out of the kitchen and toss a knife carelessly into the darkness. There was a sharp intake of unnecessary air and then the sharp scent of upturned earth as something fell to the ground with a broken thud.

                He felt the demon within him chuckle in delight. This Alfred person was a real treat to watch.

* * *

 


	9. Blood Driven Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which people have that dance, it gets ruined by Dorian, and people come to lay claim on some old shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song in italics is "Old fashioned" by Cee-lo Green, Other than that, I have nothing to say other than the drama has escalated into violence!

Blood Driven Moon

* * *

 

             

                “You owe me a dance.”

                Clark turned around, cape swirling with the movement as he came face to face with a certain billionaire he hadn’t seen much of the night outside of their initial meeting. Smooth hands lifted the punch out of his hand, shoving it in someone’s random direction. It was taken, fought over and spilt, but Bruce couldn’t quite bring himself to care. He was too busy grabbing Clark’s hands, leading his slightly resisting frame onto the dance floor.

                What had started out as an awkward night had escalated into a night filled with games, jokes, laughter, and memories like no other; Clark had forgotten about the darker sides of the night, lost in the enjoyment of being led around by Barbara on the dance floor. Wheelchair or not, she sure knew how to dance. She’d switched off with Tim after the first few songs were over, the teen Werewolf cutting a rug and drawing a circle of spectators around himself. Clark was then left with Dick, who didn’t spare him. Dick grabbed his hands and started dancing, laughing as Clark threw himself into it and showed him how it was done.

                It was possibly the weirdest sight: A Justice Lord and the Gray Ghost dancing up a storm and laughing stupidly at others who couldn’t keep to the beat. There was a wonky looking ballerina who looked more like she was having seizures than dancing, but she was having fun. That was the whole point of tonight, even when she came over and danced with Dick and Clark for a while. Even Clark and Lois had found a dance together, and for once he was too relaxed to let their prior situation ruin tonight for him.

                In the midst of all the dancing and laughter, several games had been set up for their entertainment. They were unveiled later in the night. Bruce’s impish smile goaded his guests into their child-like tendencies with fever. Of course there was a bobbing for apples game set up over a plastic tarp near the back portion of the room. That Woody Character, Curtis, had won that one by fishing out four apples in the allotted minute. He’d whooped with the apple still stuck in his teeth, face drenched and hands thrown high into the air. His prize was getting pelted in the face with a cream pie before Bruce handed him a check for fifty dollars.

                Between the monster trivia game, which Barbara won, the dance off, which another guest had won just shy of Tim, and the busted Piñata of the “Great Pumpkin” sitting with its remains scattered in people’s pockets, on the floor, and on the table, Clark had never laughed so much in a single setting. He was surprised to find himself looking for Bruce on various occasions, but that ended as the billionaire finally managed to drag him to the center of the floor.

                “Are you nervous?”

                Clark wiped his slightly sweaty hands on his suit. “Not particularly.”

                “Relax…I’m not going to accost you on the floor.”

                “That isn’t what I’m worried about…”

                “Does dancing with a demon disgust you?”

                “I’ve never danced with one.”

                “Well…there’s a first time for everything.”

                The DJ seemed to have a sick sense of humor as Bruce slid his arms around Clark’s neck. The music ended on a high note, and something softer, suave-like and melodic drifted through the speakers, changing the demeanor of the party like that. Couples paired off to dance to something slow for a change, though they were few. Others took that time to catch their breaths and watch whoever was left.

                There really wasn’t anyone else but them, gently swaying to the gentle crooning of a familiar man.

 _My love’s old fashioned_  
But it still works  
Just the way it is.

“Oh, the DJ has jokes tonight,” Bruce chuckled. It didn’t keep him from melding into the arms slipping around him, leading them into a sway that was simply hypnotizing. The scent of Clark was always alluring, and being so close to it was a recipe for being awash with that pleasurable wave of dizziness that kept him securely in those tightening arms.

Clark didn’t say anything as Bruce’s head fell against his shoulder. He was too wrapped up in the slow burn fluttering to life in his stomach.

 _This love is classic_  
and not just simply because  
I say it is.  
It’s right on time (right on time)  
And it’s timeless (timeless)  
And it’ll be right here, for always.

                From the sidelines, guests and family alike watched the two men dance in the single light of the moon shining brightly through the open skylight above.  She was full this night, bright and merciless in her beauty. The red seeping into her majesty was a sign of things to come, yet no one was focused on it.

 _My love’s old fashioned_  
So be it, I’m set in my ways.  
Hush child, just listen  
Don’t it sound just like the good old days.

                Jason could feel the pull of time coming to mesh with reality as it stood. The fogs were rolling, and the long hand inches from the hour of midnight were enough to make the demon within him uneasy. The human part of his existence willed the demon to calm itself, wanting another moment to see something beautiful before the ugliness of the forgotten ones of the Earth reared its ugly head. He watched them, enraptured by the music, never once minding the shoulder of Alfred pressing himself into his side.

 _Well it’s right on time (right on time)_  
And it’s timeless (timeless)  
And it’ll be right here, for always (always).

                Barbara slipped her hand into Dick’s, squeezing tightly as she bit her lip. Tim wordlessly handed her a handkerchief, paying no mind to the tears that fell from her eyes. He wiped his own away brusquely, the glamour of his costume fading with a gentle wave of Jason’s hand. He perched his massive hand upon Tim’s head, doing his best to reassure him.

                There was only this moment left…

                Dick absently heard someone gasp. He found it was Lois, mouth covered in slight shock as the cup she’d gathered fell from her slackened hands.

 _My love’s right on time (right on time)_  
And it’s timeless (timeless)  
I’ll be right here for always.

                She watched them, as did the others, unable to break that moment of time. The spell of them was strong, willing those who were immune to such emotions to look upon them, breathe in what could not be denied despite the forces working against them.

                For a moment, another image brought itself to life. They could swear to it, but dared not voice themselves for fear of being called a lunatic.

                A forgotten moment surfaced, and the Mistress and Master of the Wayne Household swirled around the room, lost within one another as the music swelled and left them speechless.

 _Oooo… people they gather round, and they wonder how_  
Are we in love right here and now.  
I just smile ‘cause true love doesn’t go out of style.

                The hand upon the Grandfather Clock within the foyer struck the number twelve, joining its smaller counterpart. The chime that rang through the empty halls echoed blindly, seeking out the hearts and souls of those lost in the trance of the Wayne Manor. People froze in their spots, forced to stay wherever they were, locked in whatever they were doing the moment the first chime rang.

 _Ooh… right on time,_  
Ooh, yes,  
Ooh… on time, ooh timeless  
I’ll be here, for always.

                Bruce found himself looking into wavering sapphires, seeing the skies as they were when they were unchained. The sweet breath of the man from another world tickled his lips, the tip of his nose brushing his as their forehead’s touched.

He closed his eyes, forcing himself to remember this moment.

                He kept them closed, leaning into the soft kiss left upon his lips and wishing to the heavens that this wouldn’t end. He couldn’t know that Clark was silently wishing the same thing, his hand curling to twine with the one pressed against his chest.

                Heaven didn’t hear them.

                The snide laughter and clapping of a single person within a sea of frozen faces broke the spell, pulling them back down and into the abyss that had fallen upon them.

                Dorian smirked widely, his hands clasped together as he stopped clapping. “Bravo…my dear cousin, Bravo,” he jeered.  He spun around, hands above his head and twirling with a mad laugh that bounced back to pierce his ears. “Leave the humans with a romantic moment in their minds before they wake to their Armageddon. How very kind of you!”

                “Dorian…I’m warning you, I’m not in the mood to deal with your snide jeers this night!” Bruce snapped.

                “Oh…and what are you going to do about it? I’ll tell you what… **nothing**. Blood runs deeper than you dare to think my dear cousin, and my ties here will not allow you to harm me without consequences.”

                Bruce growled, tied by the binds of his blood.

                That growl quickly turned to slight shock as he witnessed the slight blur of black, white, and red slam itself into his cousin, knocking the pompous fool several feet to land hard on his back. Clark adjusted his fist, shaking it once as he glared down at the hissing man spitting blood in his direction. Dorian was on his feet quicker than he’d been knocked off of them, but subdued by another face appearing in front of his own.

                Alfred calmly backhanded Dorian, the power of his swing knocking him to the side. “Kindly refrain from your nonsense,” Alfred warned, never once flinching from the sight of those elongated fangs coming into sight. He stared those glowering eyes of red down, reaching up to snatch his ear when he did not retract the open threat. Dorian was yanked down, hard, forced to remain bent over awkwardly at the mercy of a very pissed off Butler who was a trigger shy of showing him what for.

                “You seem to forget Master Dorian…that your place in the world is at risk as well.” Alfred yanked him down again for good measure, making sure he felt the pain and just what he would do if shoved further than he allowed himself to be. He shook Dorian once, shoving the handsome creature back a bit to let him crash against the wall. “You may be kin to the Wayne name, but its fortunes you will never hold. I will not allow you do as you please tonight. Things…have changed.”

                “Yes, indeed they have…” Dorian rubbed the side of his face, working his jaw to make sure that it had not been shattered. His ear throbbed and burned the longer he thought about it, but it didn’t hold a candle to the rage he felt staring at Bruce standing there and doing nothing. He spat on the floor, glaring holes into the first one who came to his defense.  “You certainly move fast.”

                “I’ll do more than that next time,” Clark promised.

                “What’s this Brucie? You have an honest to god **_Superman_** defending your honor?” Dorian scoffed, snatching his hand away from his ear. The Blood on his hand confirmed what he suspected. “You’ve got quite the grip old man…”

                “Oh…indeed he does,” Jason said almost gleefully.  He stepped away from the frozen bodies of the humans around them, out into sight into the light of the moon. The demon within him screamed to be let free, to dance upon this body that threatened those it respected, but it wasn’t time just yet.

                “Jason…”

                “No worries Bruce.” He looked back to the moving forms of Dick, Tim, and Barbara, Dick stalling long enough to roughly grab Lois from her open trance. She stumbled forward and caught herself on his sleeve, looking about wildly as her mind rushed to catch up to her. “I believe they are quite alright…your invitation kept them from being bound.”

                “Thank the heavens for small favors,” Bruce breathed to himself. He quickly shifted into the persona people knew within the suit he kept hidden in the caves below, frowning and giving the faintest of nods towards Dick. “Go. NOW!” he all but roared. There was no time to waste. Dick gathered Barbara into his arms and left the chair, screaming at Tim to grab Lois. Tim grabbed the woman by her hand and yanked, forcing her to run before the shadows could shift and reveal their selves. She only had a moment to see Bruce turn his head away from them before the doors closed themselves without any aid.

                “Clark…”

                “I’m staying,” Clark exclaimed. “You can’t convince me otherwise, unless it involves them.”

                Bruce shook his head. “The Manor will keep them safe. Please go…I don’t want you to get hurt…”

                “I can handle myself.”

                “Clark, this isn’t some intergalactic deity trying to suck the earth dry! It’s not space related!”

                “Then why don’t you tell me what it is before we all find out the hard way?”

                Dorian sucked his teeth openly, but didn’t move from his spot. Alfred was still nearby, this time holding something he didn’t see upon the man until that moment. Dorian hadn’t seen that sword in quite some time. The last time he’d seen it he was nearly impaled upon its glimmering blade, still humming in resentment for having missed a deserving target. Dorian was quite fond of keeping his limbs intact. “Oh please, do tell the dumb bastard what he’s missing already,” he grumped. “I mean, it probably won’t kill him….right away.”

                “What is he talking about? Bruce?”

                “…he’s talking about the resurrection of the Clans,” Bruce murmured, more than annoyed at it, and this entire scenario. He folded his arms and growled at nothing in particular, searching for the proper way to explain this without saying too much. Clark was a smarter man than given credit for. He could and would figure out what he wasn’t telling him eventually. He only hoped that he understood…and didn’t do anything rash.

                “Bruce?”

                “The Clans have decided to resurrect themselves,” he explained. “When I say the Clans, I mean the hidden races of demonic folklore that humans have forgotten. You’re aware of the magic and mystics that have flared from time to time, correct?” At Clark’s solemn nod, he continued, “Well, you could call them precursors to what’s happening now. It was the earth dispelling some of the older magic into the air, readying herself for tonight.”

                Clark sucked in a sharp hiss of air. “You’re not saying…”

                “Hell is quite real…and so is heaven…but no, that will not come to pass for eons yet,” Jason assured.  “What I believe Bruce is trying to relay…is that the hidden races that have been shoved in the dark…want out.”

                “Oh for the love of—Vampires fucking EXIST!” Dorian snapped angrily. He ignored the glowering rage building in Bruce, well past the point of tolerance. This was insane, even for his cousin. “I’m a bloody vampire, and while I’m loathed to admit to it, that half breed is a partial one!”

                “Dorian!!”

“Shit, why couldn’t you just tell him that and be done with it?!”

                “Because maybe I didn’t want him to **know** that part!” Bruce bellowed. “I’m going to rip the rest of your ear off with the other you bastard!”

                “What…he didn’t know you were a mingled mess unwelcome in either circle?” When Bruce didn’t answer, Dorian gave a low cold chuckle, eyes aglow with malice. “Oh, Brucie…you’re more pathetic than I thought.”

                Clark had seen Bruce move before, but he’d never seen him move quite as fast as he did then.  Dorian met him in the middle, bodies clashing in a heap of swinging limbs. Bruce howled, hands grabbing fistfuls of shirt, ignoring the blinding pain of claws ripping at his flesh. He managed to slip his hands around that neck, and squeezed as Dorian tore into his arm, sending blood everywhere. He lashed at his clamped jaws with his tail, a long welt of red forming over Dorian’s eye. The next lash broke skin, and the third cracked the tile of the floor when Dorian moved his head. They rolled, Bruce slamming his fist into the handsome face, wheezing as he was kicked in his ribs and forced away from the raging Vampire. A merciless kick to his face sent him flying backwards at an awkward angle, Bruce hitting the floor with a sickening crack that could not be mistaken for anything less than what it was.

                Bruce remained on his knees, holding his arm in a crumpled ball. “Damn it…”

                Dorian got to his feet, wiping the blood from his face. “That actually hurt…” he mused. He cracked his neck accordingly, his face twisting into something grotesque. The open wound upon his face began to heal itself. He licked the remaining blood from his fingers, glaring at Bruce still on his knees. “Oh…you’re going to pay for that, Brucie…”

                “Oh…oh **_dear_** ,” Alfred murmured, none too kindly toward Dorian. “You’ve definitely done it now.”

                “What nonsense are you speaking of now, Goblin?!”

                “I am not of the Iron Kissed…but I am of the intelligence not to strike someone down when their chosen is **still** in the room.”

                Dorian realized his mistake a little too late. Clark had zoomed past him, tending to Bruce as he fought not to scream. The break was clean, but painful, so much so that the man shook trying to keep it together. Alfred motioned for Jason to grab something off of the nearby table. Jason complied, turning only when he heard the unmistakable whoosh of someone moving faster than humanly possible.

                Clark had Dorian by the collar of his shirt, twisted shut around his neck. It might not have mattered, if Clark wasn’t five feet in the air, Dorian held two feet above him, and normally clear eyes of blue slowly weren’t starting to burn with intent to do some serious damage. It was an eerily reminiscent sight, one that hat sent them spiraling into the reality that the costume had originated from. This time it wouldn’t be Darkseid or Luthor to meet their end…Dorian was going to be on the end of those twin beams of light, and not be able to get up from this one.

                “You might not want to do that,” Dorian growled.

                “You’re a Vampire,” Clark reasoned. “Who will miss you?”

                “My clan for one…and I sincerely doubt you want those most precious to you to fall at the hands of my generals.” He smirked as Clark fumed, their thoughts headed in the same direction. “I thought that Lois woman was quite lovely…shame the boy managed to snatch her. She fell easily enough.”

                “Now you’re just being daft,” Alfred snapped. “I’m not cleaning up your ashes tonight Dorian, so stop this nonsense right now!”

                 “I do believe this ‘ere has gone on long enough….”

                Clark grunted in shock, staring at Dorian howling in unspeakable pain as something pelted him in his arm. He dropped the vampire, falling with him to watch him roll into a hissing ball as he ripped something off of him. It fell away and rolled with a soft clink, landing at the slightly scuffed boots of a certain woody character still in animation. Curtis picked up the small dart, flicking it over his shoulder when he saw that it was empty.

                “What did you do to him?” Clark asked.

                Curtis sniffed a little, scowling just a bit as he eyed the writhing Vampire on the floor. “Might of poisoned him a lil’. You know that holy water shit don’t work by itself…but a sliver dart tipped in garlic and holy water? Whoowee! Knock a vamp right off his feet. Specially this ‘ere fucker.”

                “I knew your ass would come in handy,” Bruce chuckled weakly. Clark forgot about Dorian and what he wanted to do to the vampire. He drifted back over to Bruce, kneeling down as Bruce tossed himself into his chest. Those little horns on his head hurt, but not as much as seeing the man he’d known for years trying not to scream from the pain. He was careful not to jostle him, sitting him more comfortably against him as Curtis stood over them, frowning.

                “Yeah well…don’t go gloating over it. I might still kill yer ass.”

                Jason stopped in his journey back with the requested item in hand, staring upward to the moon tainted with the kiss of blood seeping into the ethereal light. He shuddered, the demon within him howling and forcing him to acknowledge what moved within the shadows outside the grounds.

                “They are here,” he murmured.

                “Who’s here?” Clark asked.

                The wide fear within Jason’s eyes was enough to spike a deep sliver of it into Clark’s heart. “The Elders of the Clans come…here to bargain for their reign.”

* * *

 


	10. Demonic Tyranny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Vampires are fucking real, Lois realizes this, and people fight. Also...Knives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I know. It's been a minute. Don't shoot me. I'm still...working on it. 
> 
> Things you should know: Rhyming Demons have more power. I'm just putting it out there. I also one upped Etrigan...why? It's Halloween. Everything gets an upgrade.

**Democratic Tyranny**

* * *

 

                “So…vampires…are real,” Lois said, slowly so she wouldn’t misunderstand herself, or think that she was insane. Barbara nodded, shifting on the bedding she was placed upon. The dagger she’d kept in her hand was glimmering in the soft lighting of the night from the open windows. Dick had gone about the room snatching all the curtains off of the windows, aiming to see before something could sneak up upon them. Tim had gone around the room setting up wards, slapping them to the door and ceils of the windows. When he started scribbling things, muttering under his breath, it was Barbara’s task to enlighten Lois.

                Lois was not taking it as well as they thought. “So…you expect me to believe…that Vampires…are actually real? And that **tonight** ,” she stressed that word, pointed downward and shaking as she repeated what she’d been told, “The clans of the forgotten races are coming here to parlay for their right to rule humanity?! Okay…where’s the camera? Joke over!”

                “It’s not a joke,” Barbara said. “Believe me, I thought it was a joke once too…until I stumbled onto some stuff I shouldn’t have…”

                “Lois, if aliens can exist, what makes you think that vampires, werewolves, and demons don’t?” Dick asked.  He turned his head from the window, having seen enough of the rolling fogs for him to be properly uncomfortable. “I mean…you’ve been in the mix of some pretty strange stuff yourself.”

                “That and this are WAY different! Aliens can be wiped out by the superhero…Demons being exorcised requires faith and the hope that God isn’t laughing at us! Oh dear lord,” she murmured, thinking about what she’d seen the other night. How pale that one man was, and how those people were screaming that their friend started biting people, fangs and all. She hadn’t stayed, thinking they were all high on something other than life. That part of town wasn’t a noble place to have honor or a reliable word of mouth…but they were telling the truth! “Oh…oh god…those calls were real!”

                “They tend to be when a lot of people start saying the same thing,” Barbara reasoned. “The Gotham P.D. was getting a lot of reports about people falling over from blood loss, others screaming that they were bitten on the neck and swearing to god that there were honest to god vampires running around the streets. It wasn’t serious…until drained bodies started showing up…and people started disappearing.”

                She hadn’t thought to look at the police reports back in Metropolis. Lois had shoved it off as some strange phenomenon in celebration of Halloween. She cursed herself and her lack of initiative. She never let something like this slip from her fingers this badly, no matter what the circumstances.

                Lois hated to admit it, but a lot of it had to do with her anticipation of seeing a certain Billionaire tonight.

                “Shit,” she muttered, covering her mouth in frustration. “This isn’t good.”

                “We’re safe as long as we stay here,” Tim said. “We’ve warded the place against those who aren’t invited…”

                “That whole invitation thing works?!”

                “Yes. It does…and it can save you or kill you.”

                Lois felt he blood drain from her face. “Oh god…you’re not kidding. Wait! We left Bruce and Clark down there!!” She got up and blindly headed for the door, steps from reaching the doorknob when Dick grabbed her and hauled her back. She flinched as the door rattled on its own, scrambling away from it when something started to scratch at the wooden surface. More scratches followed; the silent wail and purr for permission to enter staining the air with something foul. Barbara clenched her dagger a little harder, shivering as Lois was deposited back on the bed to sit aside her.

                “Remember when I said you’re not to talk to Mr. Darcy or Elizabeth looking people?” Dick asked. Lois nodded numbly, clenching the fabric of her skirt rhythmically. “Well, those people were Vamps…enjoying the festivities upon an open invitation from Bruce.”

                “He invited those things here?!”

                There was more scratching, this time at the window. Lois didn’t dare look the first time, but the second time she couldn’t quite help it.

                She screamed, the sound loud and piercing as the fanged ones floating outside of the window grinned evilly at her.

                Tim clamped her mouth shut with his hands, shushing her as best he could. “Lois! They can’t get in! You’ll be fine, I promise! Pops wouldn’t let any of them get near you anyhow.”

                She sucked in a deep breath, and tried not to scream again when a young looking child found her way to the window, clawing playfully at the clear surface. She couldn’t have been more than ten, her white hair pulled in spiraling ponytails that fell alongside her head and rested against her shoulders. Her wide red eyes stared at them blankly, a small smirk pulling at her pink stained lips. There was a trickle of red at the corner of her mouth; smeared when she wiped at it and tapped at the window again.

_Blood Driven moon..._

_High oh so high…_

                “Is she singing??”

                “Don’t listen!” Dick shouted. “Cover your ears!”

_Paint me a ribbon of life_

_Across the night ridden sky…_

_Sing me a lullaby…._

_Place the sheep to slumber tonight_

_To sleep within my arms_

_On this red ethereal night…_

“Oh dear god,” Lois whimpered. She curled herself into a ball, holding her ears and willing herself not to think about the banging on the door, or the singing girl outside the window hungrily licking her fangs. She wanted to wake up, to realize she’d fallen asleep during a really bad movie. She’d never watch it again, and she could forget about what she was listening to now.

                Barbara pressed something into her hands. Lois looked, and paled further as she realized what it meant.

                A trembling hand wrapped itself around the stake made of a sweet smelling wood.

                She held it to her chest…and prayed that these things wouldn’t get into the room.

* * *

 

                “Isabel is here…”

                “Hmm? Bruce?”

                Bruce opened his eyes a bit from where he still lay against Clark. His body protested the movement, but his ears heard what he didn’t want to acknowledge. His tired glare fell on Dorian, lying on the floor semi-unconscious. The glare was half-heartedly given back, a small smirk of triumph pulling at his pale lips. Bruce was tempted to tell Curtis to stake the waking bastard.

                “Master Bruce…” Alfred, still youthful even after the toll of midnight had come and gone, knelt down at his side with a glass in hand. Bruce eyed it and stifled a long suffering moan, not wanting to do this in front of Clark. He had little choice. Alfred wasn’t about to let him sit here and suffer until he could find somewhere private to indulge the other part of himself that didn’t need mentioning…again. “Drink.”

                “Yes, Brucie…Drink,” Dorian teased, half wheezing through his laughter. He managed to roll over a bit, somehow righting himself up with his left hand clenched tightly over his right arm. The pain was dimming, as was the urge to vomit, but the damned cowboy was waiting with another in case he tried something else. This probably wasn’t the best tactic he could have come up with, but it didn’t stop him from egging Bruce on, thoroughly enjoying the unease in his cousin’s glowering eyes.

                “If you don’t shut up I will stake you myself!” Alfred warned.

                “Oh, please don’t,” Jason grinned at the vampire. “I’m really looking forward to seeing that.”

                Dorian rolled his eyes painfully. “Demons…all the same.”

                Bruce couldn’t remark on that. Alfred was too busy shoving the glass at his lips, pouring the viscous red liquid down his throat. He made sure all of it went down, clamping Bruce’s mouth shut the moment everything was gone out of the glass. Bruce grimaced; struggling violently until the pain outdid itself times five.

                He roared clutching his arm as it set itself on its own, rapidly healing the bone with a searing fire that could knock the best of them out. Bruce came close, almost fainting when that fire finally stopped and left him gasping, sore, and wanting something more than a warm body holding him through the “healing” process.

                He clamped down that side of him, flexing his hand and his arm weakly. He was okay, but that was going to smart in the morning.

                “Well damn…” Curtis whistled softly to himself. “Blood does do a body good.”

                “….shut up Curtis,” Bruce spat tiredly. He managed to lift his head a bit and look at Clark staring down at him worriedly. He placed his uninjured hand on his cheek. “I’m fine…but you need to get to…the others…”

                “Something’s wrong?”

                “Yes…”

                “Come on lad,” Jason said. He patted Clark on the shoulder, urging him to follow. “We’ve intruders who should not be here. The Blood Driven moon makes them thirst, and they cannot attack the frozen bodies around us. The Manor protects them, for the moment.”

                “Bruce…”

                Bruce gave him a small fanged smile and shoved himself out of Clark’s arms. Alfred took hold of him, supporting him as he motioned for them to hurry up. “Follow the singing…but don’t LISTEN!” he warned. “Hurry! The longer Isabel sings, the weaker everyone gets…”

                Clark could hear someone singing in the distance, but he tuned it out much like he tended to tune out most of what he heard on a daily basis. He’d learned early on that not everything he heard was worth listening to, and in this case, he had a very distinct feeling of Deja-vu from another lifetime. He reluctantly got to his feet, joining Jason as he marched across the ballroom to the closed doors were the others had vanished. Curtis followed, slipping his hands into the inside of his vest and pulling out a silver stake that looked wickedly sharper than the dagger strapped to his hip.

                Clark gave Bruce a final look. “Bruce…don’t do anything stupid. We still have to talk…right?”

                 The man gone demon slowly nodded his head, and watched as the costumed Justice Lord vanished through the doors that were ripped open by Curtis’s urgent hands. The three of them vanished, and the doors slammed themselves closed once more, this time with a wave of Alfred’s hand.

                “It’s alright Master Bruce…I think he’s gone far enough.”

                “About bleeding time too,” Dorian snarled. “I was getting tired of sitting here!”

                Bruce paid Dorian no mind. He was too focused on the burning pain of his backside, ripping at his flesh and the fabric of his shirt. He clawed at it, growling harshly as the burn intensified. This was the part of him he hated the most…the part he wished on no one, and wished for no one to see. It was the sole reason behind the mask sitting in the caves below, and why he didn’t like to be called on what was in his blood. Dorian was right. No circle accepted him…because he was neither one nor the other.

                Dorian got up in time to throw himself ten feet away from the brimming fires that spread like wildfire. It was nothing more than a quick flash of heat and flames, but those flames were of the demonic blood and could scorch anything that wasn’t protected from it. The floor was blackened as proof of that, and the smell of brimstone was stronger than the bloodlust of those who walked the grounds outside. The frozen guests didn’t have the luxury of seeing such a display, or to watch as their delightful host take on the stance of the frozen woman upon the fountain outside.

                It was only when those wings spread themselves, and the soft horns upon his head grew to a moderate length did the front doors open with a gust of ill-favored wind.

                Bruce gathered himself and stood, turning to face the five Elders he knew would come this night.

                “And so the parley for humanity begins,” Dorian said unnecessarily. He looked at Bruce sideways. “Do you honestly think that these people’s souls will grant humanity another century or so? I hardly think it’s enough myself…”

                Bruce hung his head tiredly as the elders drifted within the room.  The scent of brimstone joined with brusque smell of earth, the soft musk of fur, the light airy scent of magic, and the dark smell of blood and death. Lust mingled within the different smells, as did the raving hunger that drove most vampires mad with the desire to feed this night. He felt it himself, but his body was honed for the one he’d tried to keep away from the darkness for quite some time. Tasting it as he had only endangered Clark as well as himself…and now Bruce had two jobs to do.

                “I bid thee welcome to my home…” Bruce greeted somberly. “I approach thee in full garb, my blood running freely and unquestioned.”

                He had to keep them busy…and he had to save everyone…without getting himself killed. Much.

                “Raise your head half-breed and greet us properly this night…you may live another moment,” someone hissed. “Prove your intentions, and we may include you within this parley.”

                “May?” another snapped. “Fool, don’t be daft. He is the reason we are here! Do not disrespect him! This Manor will find reason to kill you this night, as she does belong to Thomas Wayne.”

                “Mmm…It’s been quite a long time since his name was law,” a familiar voice said quietly. Bruce’s pointed ears pricked themselves softly. He knew that voice, but it couldn’t be who he thought it to be. “His boy has done him justice…and he deserves the respect owed despite his mixed blood.”

                “Blasphemy!” the first voice spat. “He is of neither and will never belong to us or them! He should not even exist! If not for the blood wards of the fae, he surely would have died long before now!”

                “However you see it,” a fourth, deeper, and slightly put upon voice muttered none too kindly to the first voice hissing his way, “his death would not be looked upon kindly…and I sincerely doubt the vampire clans would like to spark the wrath of the hells.”

                The fifth voice quieted the other four with no more than a boney hand drifting from the depths of his gray mottled cloak. “Judgment is at hand…” he whispered. His voice carried like the weight of ice upon stiff shoulders, forcing Dorian, and Alfred down to their knees. Bruce remained standing, unsure of what it meant but not willing to do anything he wasn’t forced into. It wasn’t in his nature. The cloaked figure seemed to assess this and waved it off as nothing.

                “Raise your head, Son of Wayne,” he instructed softly. “Show us what few of your blood have…and keep.”

When finally he looked up, he really wasn’t expecting to see one familiar face out of the five he expected.  He held his tongue and his face, wondering violently why he was looking upon the gruff features of John Stewart with glittering gold eyes.

* * *

 

                “Quick lesson on Vampire killin’” Curtis grunted. “One…don’t let the fuckers get within fifteen feet of you.”

                Jason and Clark watched as Curtis rounded the corner of the upper floors, charging into the hissing brood that was lurking within the darkened halls. The man was a walking armory. Clark didn’t even hear the clicks of two guns slipping loose from under that vest, and almost missed the spray of bullets that ripped at the vampires lunging for them. High caliber guns like the ones in Curtis’s hands were not cheap and did their job well if maintained. The human bound Demon and the Kryptonian didn’t have to do much. Curtis was doing it all with quick fingers, a spray of obscenities leaving his mouth with every part shot off. There weren’t but eight vampires in the hall, and two of them had enough sense to move faster than those bullets.

                “Two! If the fuckers do manage to get within fifteen feet of you…”

                The guns in his hands were flipped to the side and tossed of their empty cartridges. The two whom hadn’t been filled with holes dove from above, their faces morphing into the bizarre figures that could haunt the most docile of dreams. Curtis moved like lightning, hands in and out of his vest, grabbing the dagger at his side and swinging in time to slice its jaw across the face. The blooded howl of anguish ripping through the air didn’t spare it mercy. Curtis shoved himself into its personal space alongside his fist, bones and cartilage crushed from the single blow to its face. The force of that blow sent it into the wall, crumpled into a heap of twitching limbs.

                The other vampire, a female, raked her talon-like fingers across his chest. Curtis leapt back, twisting on his right foot to swing with the left.

                Blood flew high into the air…and her head rolled to land quietly near the convulsing body of another.

                “…Knives…are your fucking friend,” Curtis breathed.

                “I wondered if you were of the old sects,” Jason mused lightly. “Now I know…A Slayer is the only one that carries a knife in their shoe like that.”

                “Slayer?” Clark asked.

                Curtis adjusted his hat. “Too right. It’s what I am ‘til the day I pass…or go down swinging. Your boy Brucie has got some tales to tell you…if he lives long enough to tell it.”

                “What are you talking about?!”

                “Never you mind that!” Jason shouted. “The witch draws near!”

                The Demon within buried its claws within his heart. It was time. The normal poem would not help them.

                Jason closed his eyes.

                Curtis felt the heat before he saw the source of it. Clark grabbed him, twisting their bodies away from the abrupt flare of hellfire that burned everything within its path. The glowing eyes of Jason were all they saw before he too was immersed in the fires swimming in the vortex around him.

 _Yarva Demonicus Etrigan._  
Change, change the form of man.  
Free the prince forever damned.  
Free the might from fleshy mire.  
Boil the blood in heart of fire.  
Gone, gone the form of man,  
Rise the demon Etrigan!

                There was a final flare of heat, one that surely melted the soles of Curtis’s boots. Or at least it felt like it. He found he was standing on the melted gook of something that had to be valuable at one point or another, but now was basically melted junk. He didn’t think to ask what it was. Bruce would know, and kill them for it…if he was alive.

                Clark tossed his cape from over them, glad he’d thought to actually grab the actual reinforced costume rather than the cheap copy he’d wanted to wear. Jason was no longer there standing the charred circle that was beneath him. The hunched form of the demon he released grunted, growling as he stood up to stretch himself out.

                That was not the normal Etrigan Clark had seen before.

                This demon was still similar, but the muted horns upon its head that were once points were now larger, curled around the fanned out ears that shook as it took to listening around it. They soon darkened in color, blacker than the ash upon the floor. The narrowed eyes of red glowed with a fine mist of power; the black kohl around his eyes twisting into intricate patterns that lined either side of his face. The markings glowed in time with his breathing; a sign of his unshielded power as he snarled hell’s mists into the air. He was a bit taller, and no longer wearing the normal garb of red and blue that he was known to wear. He was dressed in what appeared to be the garb of demonic royalty, dawning Black where the blue tattered cape once resided trimmed with gold. The red of his suit was the color of deep blood, marked in the front with the sign of his house, wherever or however that came to be. He stood tall rather than hunched over, shoulders tensed and ready for something they couldn’t see just yet.

                The jagged form of his shark like sneer could put off the bravest of men.

                “Okay…that is one bad assed demon,” Curtis breathed.

                Etrigan arched a single marked brow in his direction. “ _You clearly mark what I am, A bad assed demon indeed.  Of your skills, I am in need_.”

                “…and he rhymes. Okay…weird.”

                “ _Not weird little man of knives and gun: just a means for me to have more fun_.” He threw his clawed hand forward, thrusting something into the air. There was a large crack of power, and the vision of the invisible hall shimmered until something came into their sights. Etrigan growled again, stepping forward. “ _I hope you know magic’s ways little slayer, because if you don’t we will lose a player.”_

 _“_ Magic?”

                Clark groaned inwardly. “I’m not fond of it myself…”

                “ _Fond or not, this child will not let us pass. Not until she has met death’s hands at long last.”_

                Soft girlish laughter fell from the slender lips of the girl that hadn’t been standing there before.  Her bright red eyes seemed to widen a little as she leaned her head to the side ever so slightly, taking in the sight of them. She smiled, fangs bright and gleaming and stained with blood she’d recently devoured. The little girl couldn’t have been more than ten from a distance, wrapped in a soft velvet dress of green trimmed with white lace along the edges of her sleeves and collar. Her legs were covered in pale white stockings, and her feet were dressed in laced up boots of black that didn’t quite touch the floor.

                She fingered a curl from her pale white locks done up in two ponytails on either side of her head. “Oh…so the demon comes to play this night,” she purred. “The actual prince and not the stunted form of man and demon forced together by clumsy hands of angered magic…still…” She paused long enough to look past the demon, smiling a little wider at Clark as he stared at her in silent disbelief. “I believe this will be a fun game…I have a new toy to play with after all.”

                She merely twitched a finger at her side.

                Clark watched in horror as he saw another female come to her side, her delicate gloved hands holding something warm and green, and spiked against her chest.

                Lois started at him blankly, never hearing the twisted laughter of the girl who’d managed to shatter the glass of the window only moments ago.

* * *

 


	11. Negotiations of Blood and Power

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The skies and the space outside of them could not help them this day. Earth had sealed herself off from space, allowing her forgotten children to surface and lay claim to what they believed was theirs after all this time. They had fallen by the wayside, most content to keep to the shadows; yet there were those who wanted more…those who thought humans were a danger to their existence and way of life.
> 
> It was because of these beliefs that he stood before these five.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no update!
> 
> I think from this point, I'm just going to post for me. Me as in: I like this story. I shouldn't seek validation for my writing style. It is what it is. Some like it, some don't. Some want porn in every chapter...and I have no reason to deny that is acceptable in certain situations. 
> 
> I guess at this point, either you like it or you don't. And either one is fine.

**Negotiations of Blood and Power**

* * *

 

                Bruce kept his gaze on the lot of them, but his eyes would always drift back to the one face he hadn’t expected to see. He prided himself on knowing the ins and outs about nearly everyone he met, but this…this was not something he was expecting of John Stewart. The slightly gruff face gave away nothing but annoyance. He’d always been a military man, the stoic seriousness John’s known mask to keep others from wondering what he was thinking about. He was always at attention, tense even when he looked slack, assessing the situation and gaging whether it was safe to whip out that ring of his.

                It was one of the things he liked about John. What he didn’t like, particularly now, was that he couldn’t sense that foreign energy of space around John. The ring, like all other types of energy, gave off a distinct feel of unearthly and outside of home—space and beyond the veil of earth that coveted its own. There was only a faint trace of it now, a soft hum of memory that echoed under the distinct weight and scent of wolf blossoming in the air.  John shifted a little, uneasy, growling at the other four faces staring between the other.

                The sure feel of “Alpha” came rushing through the room.

Bruce shivered, reminded of Clark.

The skies and the space outside of them could not help them this day. Earth had sealed herself off from space, allowing her forgotten children to surface and lay claim to what they believed was theirs after all this time. They had fallen by the wayside, most content to keep to the shadows; yet there were those who wanted more…those who thought humans were a danger to their existence and way of life.

                It was because of these beliefs that he stood before these five.

                An old prophecy had warned him of such a day, but he had shoved it aside to keep his selfish desires within and out of his reach.

                He dearly wished he would have prepped more for this, and wondered how he could not see what he clearly smelt upon the African-American man now.

                John let the corner of his lip twist a bit. “Always upwind of you,” he answered softly. “You had me fooled for a while as well.”

                “…you’re of the Weres….”

                “I am…and I’ve come to learn that I’ve been deemed Alpha in my absence. It is why I am here. The only true reason I’ve come.”

                “You’ve no desire to enslave man to your will?”

                John snorted openly, clearly disgusted by the thought. “Don’t insult me. Humans are more of a danger confined than let loose to do as they see fit. If they want to kill themselves with their petty nonsense, then it is of no concern to me or mine. That is our decision. We want nothing to do with humans, unless they threaten what is ours. It has been this way since the first Wolf stepped onto the land.”

                “You mangy wolves always take the easy way out,” the first voice snarled. “You’ve no sight of the overall picture. Humans will find and kill what they do not understand. This is how they are! This is why they are SHEEP to herd! They must be enslaved! It is our right to do so!”

                That voice came from the malevolent pale throat of an Elder Vampire by the name Faustino Marques of the Red Noble Court. The Red Nobles were a breed of Vampire that thrived on the purity of their blood. They were an old breed of Vampire, one who traveled and lived in the darkness, herding humans into their embrace and doing with them as they saw fit. They believed humans to be inferior beings, as well as anyone of mixed blood. Oddly enough, their tastes were only for the finest and purist of bloods, which meant that virgins as well as anyone without the stain of another race within them were liable to become enslaved by them. They carried themselves as Nobles, and acted as such, much to the annoyance of anyone who walked within their path.

                John sneered at the Elder Vampire, not in the least put off but the yellowed fangs snapping at him. Faustino was a thin pale man under the robes of scarlet and black he wore this night. His hollowed cheeks only pronounced the high cheekbones of his face, the thick and slightly hooked nose in front of him making him appear angular and mostly lines. His narrowed eyes were nearly white with age, but glowed all the same. The soft wrinkled features of his face were also a sign that he had not fed yet, which was dangerous to everyone standing aside or in front of him.

                Just because a vampire like that preferred the purist of the pure did not mean he would not taint himself to settle the deep hunger that was the curse of his clan.

                A pale bony finger of mostly pale skin and long unkempt nails, colored with time, pointed itself in John’s face.  “You Werewolves will be the death of yourselves,” he hissed. “We of the Red Nobles will not let some _dog_ rule in our favor.  You can’t possibly understand what you want when you can’t decide amongst yourselves who is leader properly!”

                “The old one died and decreed me as leader until such procedures could be taken,” John replied coldly. “Have some respect for who is no longer amongst us, lest you forget this night and who is allowed to visit as flesh and blood!”

                “This night is a gateway after all,” the fourth voice declared. “The dead and undead can roam about freely, and come to take vengeance if they so desire it. The Blood Driven moon…perhaps is the only thing keeping anyone from confronting your silly race and its notions…”

                Faustino glared coldly at the one who spoke so frankly to him. Everyone was a clan or house within their own right, and demons were no more or no less, regardless of what form they took. They could be summoned by name, or living amongst the living humans under a guise as one, but their main goal in life was to learn more about the human soul and devour as many as they could. At least, that was the assumption given to all from the demons who blatantly walked without shame. In truth, they were like dark fae…they bargained, and won because of the temptation of the human soul.

                The large demon that stood in front of them was cloaked in mostly black garb that did nothing to hide the folded appendages upon his backside. They were bat-like in nature, as they tended to be amongst human type demons, silken and black with red streaked veins pulsing in time to his heart. The soft clop of hooves danced amongst the charred floor as he eased himself backward, folding his massive arms over his equally massive chest. His face was proud, roguish and red by nature, unseeing eyes of yellow glaring at the vampire sticking his nose up at him haughtily. He snorted, the ring in his nostrils moving with the steam that flared with it. The ram horns upon his head were a sign of his age and rank, and he was not a young demon by any means.

                He was as old; older than the Vampire that blatantly held no respect for him.

                Here on earth, they were on even ground. Below…that Vampire would have thought twice about his insolence.

                The demon went by the name Malistare.  His real name no one uttered, not even in their thoughts.

                “Pitiful creature of the undead…you steal life to keep yours,” he muttered darkly. “You are of a curse of hell, an inferior to those who’ve maintained you and yours. We, the demons that walk this earth freely, feel that humanity should not fall into your hands as sheep. You taint their souls with your blood, and leave them hollowed and empty when they of are no use to you.”

                “Such as sheep tend to be when slaughtered for the meat so needed to survive,” Faustino quipped.

                “The lambs of god are such…but not meant to be in thine hands undead one. We will not allow it to pass. For once, the wolves and demons are in agreement. Leave the humans be.”

                “WHAT?!”

                “Are you deaf as well as daft undead one? Humans will fall to their own devices soon enough. Why mess with a good thing? A balance must be maintained in order for everyone to survive, your own undead carcass included,” his deep voice rumbled maliciously.

                “You demons are only concerned with what you can and cannot coerce into your own malformed hands!” Faustino spat. “You are like that of the fae! Playing with humans to gain what you want. You are no better than you claim us to be!”

                “And who are you to declare such things?” the third voice, the only female voice here sighed irritably. “Do not bring the Fae into this. We’ve enough to deal with without their interference, and the Summer and Winter Courts do not need to move against the other once again! Keep their names out of this!”

                She was a fair maiden, one of oriental descent. While she was a head shorter than the others, her regality made up for it. The Royal ice blue of her Kimono was decorated with dancing lotuses, white silk trim bordering the cuffs and bottom of it. Her face was round and pleasing, easily warming to anyone who looked upon her for the first time not knowing of what she was. Her long silken hair of raven was tied back into a severe looking bun, with the ends of it failing to reside down her backside. She was graceful in all she did, even scolding Faustino who looked ready to rip her elegant head off.

                She bowed her head in greetings to Bruce, the only one to do so with apology lingering in her eyes. Bruce bowed back; well aware of the customs of oriental vampires. They were much like humans, in mannerisms and thought, but their rivalries against their own inner clans kept them busily training to be more than that. Assassins through and through, one would never hear them coming if they choose to hunt you down. It was best to become a friend rather than an enemy.

                Her name was Yukino. That’s all anyone really knew about her. She was an Elder vampire as well, but of the Aristocrats. They cared little for purity of blood. They only hunted those who were worthy of being their prey, and usually kept them through various means. Most of it consisted of twisting their fingers into the woven fabric of their prey’s lives, there but unnoticeable. It was almost like herding sheep, much like Faustino’s Clan tended to do, but in a more humane and livable way.

                “Mr. Wayne-San…please forgive my fellow Elder’s rudeness,” she said, “As well as to you, Alfred Pennyworth of the House of Azriel. We mean no disrespect to you or your fellow fae. We do not wish to bring them into this anymore than they wish to be brought in.”

                Alfred nodded his head in consent. “Yes. Let’s leave them out of this, shall we?”

                “I agree. However, I must agree with Faustino regrettably on one point,” she said with some distaste. “Humans are becoming a danger to themselves and to us. They must be reined in somehow, but I do not think it is wise to shove them into slavery.”

                “Only a bleeding Aristocrat would think along such lines,” Faustino snapped.

                “And only you of the Red Nobles would find that to be a fault. Your humans are nothing more than the sheep you herd and live as such. You care nothing for them. You only maintain their appearance for the sake of your own pride, and when they are dead they are found like slaughtered sheep and forgotten. There is no honor in what you do, and you will fall because of your puritan ways.”

                “I suppose we should be grateful that only these two courts showed up,” Malistare murmured. “I’d hate to see what the Black Court had to say.”

                “The Black Court is indisposed right now,” Yukino mentioned. “I assure you, you do not want to meet with that witch this night. Black Magic is one thing, but rising the undead…it is most disturbing.”

                The cloaked figure in the center of them—the one that seemed to dominate room without speaking and had said nothing throughout the arguments—raised his hand to silence the others. They fell silent immediately, even Faustino, much to his open displeasure. His narrowed white eyes fell on Bruce, who’d yet to say anything in regards to them either.

                “Child of split worlds,” he said, his voice whispered but overwhelming to all, “We’ve heard the bid. The vampires seek to claim reign of humanity, and the wolves and demons seek to leave things as they have been. Earth has sealed itself from the outer heavens, awaiting the decision that must be made.”

                Bruce tensed as the figure drifted closer to him, his hands of bone floating from his fluttering cloak of grey and black to flow over and rest just inches from his head. He could feel the pull of this unnamed force drawing at his memories, his inner mind, and the very thing that set him apart from those who shunned him so.

                “Open your mind…for that decision lays within your blood…the blood of a dead king…the blood so valued because it was free to reign as human when it was clearly not.  Let us see…what humanity has taught thee…and we will decide from the mind that has lived amongst them, as one…and not as one.”

                Bruce only saw the soft glow of his eyes before darkness fell.

                He screamed then, his voice drifting throughout the Manor that shook with his pain.

* * *

                Clark felt the burn of something sharp in his chest.

                His hand was over hers, Lois’, the green glow of the pointed knife illuminating her face in the dark hallway. Her eyes held not life to them, but she moved with vigor, pressing it further towards his chest. His arms struggled to keep her from doing the unthinkable, but the fight was a losing one against the green menace that had become his weakness.

                He could hear that little girl Isabel laughing in the darkness at his plight.

                The knife hadn’t touched him…but the burn in his chest…it made it hard to concentrate.

                “What’s the matter son of the stars?” Isabel cooed. “Has your home caused to you fall at the hands of a mortal?”

                “ _Little one, your fight is with me_ ,” Etrigan stated low and hard. “ _Whom shall best whom, we shall soon see_.”

                Curtis shoved his swinging fists into the fray of Vampires that had come swarming into the partially charred hallways when Isabel had sent Lois after Clark. Within them were the fighting Trio of Dick, Barbara, and Tim, though Tim was busily helping the currently chair-less Barbara fend them off of her and getting ripped at in the process. Dick was doing his best to fend off the vampires that managed to get too close to them, but they were fast, blood driven, and sincerely mad with the red moon hovering overhead.

                Curtis had flown to aid them, and the fight was only partially fair then.

                Etrigan, seeing that this wasn’t going to take a turn in their favor, spied the valiant Barbara still in her Dark faerie costume on the floor with her hands around a female vampire’s throat. The dagger in hand, she ruthlessly stabbed it in the chest, scrambling to get off of the dusting body that howled in anguish.

                She was strong despite her condition…and she would be stronger…with a little interference.

                “ _Limbs rendered immobile, I grant thee movement this night…hold up your mistress warrior, aid her in her plight. Stand strong and true; regain the memories lost, and save her life, of another’s cost.”_

                Barbara yelped as the fire of feeling raced through her legs. She rolled to the side of another wild swing of a male vampire this time, rolling to her knees and swinging upward as he lunged down. The edge of her dagger sliced off the opening jaws of that monster, severing it and his tongue off to fall lifelessly at her feet. Curtis shot the writhing vampire in the head and shoved it out of the way, blinking incredulously as Barbara slowly…and carefully got to her feet.

                “Oh…oh shit,” she muttered.

                “No, oh demonic interference,” Curtis breathed. He jerked his elbow backward and nailed another vampire in the face, knocking its fangs back up into its mouth and cracking what was left. He shot it and the one behind it in the head. “Come on princess,” he said. “How about you give those little demonic gifts a whirl and kick some ass, hmm?”

                It was all she needed to hear. The felt the burning rage fester over her, and she was diving into the fight with renewed vengeance in her blood, aiming to pay them back for every blow Tim and Dick had taken for her tonight.

                Isabel watched the scene unfold with a small frown. “That’s cheating, demon.”

                Etrigan smirked a little. “ _Cheating is what one tends to make of it. Crossing me…I’m sure you’ll regret._ ”

                The Demon opened his jaw, unhinging it past a normal jaws capacity, and exhaled a stream of hellfire into the darkness. Isabel vanished before it could touch her, but the demon was waiting, grabbing her head and slamming her into the walls with a malicious grunt of satisfaction. She grabbed his hand and yanked, sending him flying into another direction, but not without being scorched by his clawed hands and left screaming at the burning in her arms.

                She ripped the sleeves of her dress off, staring in horror as the glyphs of magic inked into her skin grew black and twisted. The thorns that spiked themselves through strange looking points in each mark cut off the magic she had running through her.

                “Curse you demon!” she spat, her red eyes flaring in madness. “I will make you suffer for that!”

                Etrigan removed himself from the rubble of the wall he’d been buried in. His horns burned through the debris upon them, fire sparking where there was none once. “ _A bargain made, and a bargain undone…_ ” he breathed, smoke drifting from his nostrils once more, “ _Magic now mine, undead little one._ ”

                “You will die!”

 “ _So you say, little one of the night. But for now…be gone from her mind’s sight!”_

                Isabel couldn’t brace herself for the mental onslaught of her mind. She shrieked; her voice loud and ear piercing, shattering glass and wood, and all that could be split with that voice within her wailing throat. It was enough to send her fellow vampires in a screeching frenzy, stopping their attack to hold their ears from the ear splitting wails that left them bleeding.

                The others took that moment to finish off what was left of them, sparing no one or anything.

                The tip of the knife was against his chest.

                Clark shoved, but his strength was just about gone.

                He lowered his head, back against the charred carpeting as she raised the knife again.

                The screams came…and Lois jerked her head back, screaming as something snapped within her and left her tumbling down with the knife still in hand.

                Clark brought his hand up and caught the blade in it, screaming between his teeth as the blade marred the palm of his hand. He wrought it away from hers, throwing it somewhere in the darkness. He heard the blade tumbled and clink against something, but he paid it little mind. He was staring up at Lois, staring down at him as the life slowly came back into her eyes.

                “C-clark??”

                He nodded.

                “W-what…happened?!”

                He didn’t know. His chest still hurt…and it was getting worse.

                Lois stared down at him, eyes assessing him more clearly. He let out a keening moan, rolling over to curl into himself as the pain nearly undid him. His bleeding hand clutched his chest, and the voice of worry screaming at him to get up washed over him as a light haze.

                He closed his eyes…unable to stand it a moment longer.

                “Clark!!!”

                “Shit…I was afraid of this!” Dick muttered skidding to kneel down against Clark. He rolled the man back over, cursing again when he realized what was happening. “We have to get downstairs! They’re forcing him to choose!”

                “They can’t do that…can they?!” Curtis cried.

                “They can! I’ll explain everything later on, but right now we have to get him downstairs and present him to the elders before they kill both!”

                “ _I shall take him into my arms this night_ ,” Etrigan exclaimed. He quickly gathered Clark into his arms, the body limp of movement but still alive for the moment. He was certainly afraid that this was the outcome, and had reason to be.  A union such as the one before them now had not been made in a very long time. He turned to the others, a grave look upon his face. “ _We must go and undo this plight_.”

                “And I would add a big fat NOW, at the end of that,” Curtis cried. “Come on! I may not like the idjit, but he ain’t as bad as what those demon folk downstairs plan to do to us!”

                Lois, still confused, scrambled to get to her feet. She took off the heels upon her feet, running through the haze of strange light that flickered in and out of her senses. She remembered singing; the soft touch of something cold on her heart; the sound of glass shattering, and then waking to find Clark falling unconscious beneath her. She had held something in her hands, but whatever it used to be was discarded in the wake of their running after a demon she couldn’t quite fathom helping them out. Her mind was scrambling to keep up, but her body…her body shoved itself to its limits and past them, rushing into the open hallways and down the corridor that would lead them to the main corridor.

                The doors burst open at the insistent palm of a very determined demon, and what she saw had everyone running and had her screaming the one name that jarred Clark right out of his trance.

                “BRUCE!!”

* * *

 


	12. Soft spoken truths in loud lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Curtis wants to stab Faustino, Everyone Agrees with this, and everyone learns just how deep this rabbit hole is going...or do they?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I know it's been a long time but life has this funny way of giving me shit and I fall into it a lot.
> 
> Two truths at the moment: I have writers block and I need to quit my job.
> 
> New obsession: Malec. *mentally drooling all over the damn place*
> 
> One goal: LEAVING ONE OF THE POTHOLES IN MY LIFE IMMEDIATELY.
> 
> Also...part of me thinks I should dive into new 52...and the other part of me is like hissing hideously at the thought because I am so old....(not really I just feel like it).

Soft spoken truths in loud lies

* * *

 

                The stumbling walk of a broken man was always a sight to see; a sad sight for most, and amusing for those who had no heart to give or spare for love or anything of that nature. Faustino was one of the latter, snorting with that all knowing smirk pulling at his thin lips when they parted from the circle they’d been in. It was enough to have John growl at him and remind everyone why certain kinds of vampires were no longer welcome within any circle. The Red Nobles were of a time were the purity of one’s bloods mattered, and it was only a matter of time before they died out from their own pettiness. This bid was a way to ensure that this was not the case, with the added benefit of gorging themselves back to beautiful creatures that could be more alluring than fae.

                Faustino’s intentions were more than clear. He’d said so many times without saying it, as people like him tended to do. Dorian, for the first time in quite a while, was a little sickened by this and what could possibly happen when that man…the man who was not a part of this world…broke free from the slackened grasp of the demon Etrigan. That demon was sharing a look with Malistare that was not appealing.

                Clark, hurt, weak, and still somewhat lost on what had gone on, had only come to at the sound of Lois’ voice screaming for Bruce. His name set something within him aflame, and then it was snuffed out so quickly that it left him broken. A jumbled mess of man was nothing without foundation. His foundation, all he believed in, everything he fought for once rested on the solid belief that he alone could do what no other could. As time changed, that foundation had shifted its ideals, its truths, and its support to reside on the one man he knew would be there even if they weren’t on the best of terms.

                That man was in a motionless heap on the floor, the leather wings upon his back fanned out behind him as some bizarre demonic picture of a fallen angel.

                Clark felt the floor before his knees did, his head falling forward to plead with that still form to get up. He couldn’t hear it…that heartbeat that he knew better than his own…and it made his soft pleading desperate when nothing came from Bruce. Not a breath, not a smirk, not a soft smile that would turn his lips just so to make him the most dazzling picture in a darkened room.

                Clark smelt salt…and he realized that it was coming from him this time.

                “What the hell did you do?!” Curtis screamed. His voice brought them all away from that sickening image and back to the here and now with Curtis marching forward with every intention on slaying the first person that moved the wrong way. He was skilled enough to hold his own, the light of his strength coming to sight when one of the stronger general vampires hidden within the throng of still humans came leaping forward without askance of their master. Curtis didn’t even bother to wait for him to land. That general was on the floor in several pieces, his head rolling to land at the feet of Faustino sneering in contempt.

                Curtis pointed the sword in his hand at Faustino next, promising a more violent death if provoked. “I don’t give a flying shit about your parley for this race,” he spat. “I don’t even give a fuck that you think that you can govern us like some flock of sheep. What I do give a damn about it what the hell you just did, and how I’m going to rip your fucking head off if I don’t get some answers!”

                “I did nothing,” Faustino growled, “And your threats mean nothing to me, Slayer. I have killed many of your kind and I will continue to with your blood added to the pool I have left in my wake.”

                “If someone doesn’t give me a reason not to kill this bastard, I will lose my shit!”

                “You’d be doing us all a favor,” Yukino muttered behind her sleeve. Faustino hissed at her and got a glare in return of flashing gold and a promise to let the slayer do as he wished with her blessings. “But he is right. He didn’t do anything. No one here did anything but the Elder, as it is his judgment that will save you or kill you.”           

                The Elder they spoke of was the cloaked man they’d failed to notice. He was staring at the image of Clark weeping soundly over Bruce’s still form. His clawed hands twitched aimlessly at his sides, as if drumming the air to help him come to a decision at his leisure.  No one could be sure of what he was thinking, or what he would say. He didn’t move to tell them either, which was just as frustrating as not being able to do what was as natural as breathing.

                Until he moved in one direction or another, it was probably best to fill the clueless ones in on what they were seeing right now. Yukino readied herself to do that, but Malistare beat her to the punch. Marching softly on his haunches to stand before the two young wards, their companion, and the woman so shaken that she couldn’t bring herself to scream, he nodded gently at Etrigan before telling them.

                “The man you knew as Bruce Wayne was the spawn of a marriage that should never have been,” he said. “It was against the laws of nature, as much as it was against the laws of fae and demon alike. He is a breed that should never twine with one another, half demon, half fae…and human in nature. It is a combination that does not bode with within one another because the natures of these beings are so different that they destroy one another. No child of a fae and a demon ever lasted more than a moment. He should not have been.”

                “If this is truth, then something is not right,” Curtis replied. “If what you say is as you say, demon, then there is an element to this that is missing, an element that no one has seen until this night.”

                Malistare eyed the Slayer with some admiration and a little annoyance. “You’re spoiling my fun.”

                “I mean no offense...but can we please get to the point before that man over there decides we’re all in his way?” The cowboy who seemed to have lost a bit of his accent, looked over at Clark. The man wasn’t crying anymore…and that within itself was dangerous. It was the calm before the inevitable storm. Yukino was well aware as she slowly backed away from him. Curtis had been in that position once.

                Anyone—man, demon, or fae—who had power under their belt would unleash that power in a blind fury if pushed. A certain vampire had done that once. She was sure Faustino was still licking his wounds from that day.

Curtis turned back to Malistare with a lopsided smile. “I’m not fixin’ to die like that, are you?”

                “Mmm…you make a valid point,” Malistare sighed. “I suppose I should just say it and spare you the suspense. “

                “You should, but you won’t,” Dick said. Malistare was a little surprised by the bold nature of that human on the cusp of manhood. He didn’t waver, though the fear was more than evident in his eyes. He’d certainly been around a great deal if he could master that look of disinterest and mask the scent of overwhelming fear with that of determination. At this, he noticed the chest of a certain demon prince swelling in pride and the soft laughter of the only wolf within the room.

                 Malistare shrugged impassively. “You can’t fault me for trying. It is in my nature to bargain.”

                “ _Tonight is not a good night to bargain during this plight_ ,” Etrigan said. “ _My apologies grand one, but for now, please delay your fun_.”

                “Very well. Yukino.”

                “Thomas Wayne was indeed a vampire,” she said, picking up where the elder demon had left off. “He was one of the Lords of this land, older than most but able to hide his nature in a way that most that were his age and even young ones have forgotten. He lived as a human, which is something we are not able to do. It is because we, as vampires, have lost our original souls, and no longer harbor the right to walk amongst the living. Thomas, however, was different. He had what no other vampire could claim as theirs; a soul…and the right to live as a human.”

                 “Something like that is never supposed to be,” Dorian muttered. “There are prophecies, talk of someone who should defy the laws of human and man and walk on a path not to heaven or hell. He would walk his own path…and die when death himself came to claim his soul.”

                 “Most still believe it is just that…talk,” Yukino explained. “However, Thomas was not an ordinary vampire. He was the only one of his kind. He lived for a long, long time…before he fell in love with a fae…or what is believed to be fae. A succubus.”

                 “They are indeed not fae…they are and forever will be demons,” Malistare said with some distaste. “They are not particularly evil, but they tend to sway towards the devious lustful thoughts of human men and drain them of their life force to continue their own.”

                 “And…how is that **not** evil?” Tim muttered.

                 “They don’t suck your soul out and devour it so that you’re never reborn. Well, not now anyway,” he amended. “Times have changed.”

                 “Okay…now that’s **evil**.”

                 “Regardless, Martha wasn’t one of the more active succubae looking for sex at every bend. She wanted something different, something that demons are not allowed to feel in fear of being destroyed from the inside out. She wanted **love** …that dangerous emotion that can kill someone in so many ways it should be considered evil.”

                 “Thomas gave that to her,” Yukino said wistfully. “Theirs was a union between Vampire and Demon that was looked upon as…blasphemous…as humans would state. Demons and Vampires are of two different circles and while most see Vampires as demons, we are indeed not the same. A brethren through a deal, yes…but not the same.”

                 “Demons are of the hells and have the agenda of their own,” Malistare explained. “Vampires, by right, are of the undead. They are memories of a soul that has departed and changed because of a deal made by man with a demon long ago. He wanted life. He wanted power. He wanted to be granted immortality. He bargained with a demon to grant him this, and the demon granted him what he desired. Life…by drinking the life of those around him. Power by harvesting that life he readily drank and forcing it to feed the demonic powers granted into his limp flesh….and immortality…by never living, you never die.”

                “What that demon did not tell that man was that his was a curse that would spread to those he bit.” Yukino resisted glaring at the malevolent amused laughter of Malistare rumbling wholeheartedly at her hidden disdain. “Vampires were a joke to spite man…but as with many jokes, it ran amok,” she said.

                “Yes well, the demon who did it was a practitioner of several forbidden magic, but the damage was done by then. Time moved on. Vampires became their own people. And then Thomas came…a strange creature that fell in love with a Succubus meant to drain his life but didn’t…and then as if to rub salt in that open wound…a baby was conceived.” Malistare glanced backward at the body that had fallen so readily at their feet, a little saddened that he hadn’t put up more of a fight. The man from a world long from here was sitting up now, not looking at them, but listening intently to his words. He’d probably been listening the whole time. It didn’t surprise the demon. “Bruce Wayne was the product of love…an emotion that should have killed her and him, but gave them the power of life.”

                “If you’re quite done entertaining the sheep, I believe you should them just why he is on the floor, dead and currently not prancing about like the mistake he is,” Faustino sneered. His light approach had Curtis swinging his sword his way again, aiming at the one place that would make sure the Elder Vampire would not get up or speak again. Faustino, not amused, wasn’t up to tangling with a sword wielding Slayer just yet. He did stop within five feet of their small group, ignoring the warning growl sent his way from the Alpha standing aside Clark.

                “A lot of people seem to not like you tonight,” Dorian mused from his spot. “For once, I am inclined to agree.”

                “When your opinion matters, I will let you know with your tongue in cheek and on the floor afterward.”

                “If you’re done with the idle threats,” Yukino muttered none too pleasantly, “Can you please move ahead and speak what is on your mind?”

                “Certainly…and it isn’t on my mind alone. What that mistake is on the floor is nothing shy of an abomination, a creature that should never be, but is. What’s worse is that the little fool has something in him…a secret that no one could ever figure out.” He sneered in disgust, eyeing the still body still being watched over by the Elder and those meddlesome fools who’d walked into the middle of something they couldn’t even fathom. Had they, they might have run screaming by now. “It is in his blood…something that allows him to use that vampire nature of his to heal his wounds and not hunger. That incubus nature allows him to find passion without draining the life force of the one he seeks to sate that hunger. It makes him unique…and a threat to all.”

                “And a key ingredient because he maintains his humanity,” Malistare said. “The house of Wayne has always been involved in the bid to keep humanity as it has been for centuries…and the one upset that keeps those who seek to gorge themselves silly from doing such. However, since Thomas was murdered alongside his wife, that bid was brought up once more and the answer lies within his son…within his blood…within a soul he should not have.”

                “So…in order to keep those he loves most out of harm’s way, he willingly gave up his soul and his ties to life…if to buy humanity another few centuries of life…” Yukino sighed. “One would think he’d flee…but he did no such thing. He allowed the Elder to see what could not be seen…and all while keeping you lot safe.”

                She smiled at them, their stunned faces remorseful, vengeful, and locked in shock as they tried to process all that they’ve been told. The boys were reckless enough to do something that would probably cost them their lives, had they been alone in this den of monsters. The girl who had Etrigan’s magic swimming within her was of that mentality as well, but more cautious and analytical. She looked like an intelligent person, and possibly dangerous if provoked. Yet none of them were as profoundly intriguing as the woman torn between screaming, crying, and beneath it all wanting to know more. Her face was lovely, despite the running mascara.

               “Wait a darn minute,” Curtis snapped. “Are you telling us that the idjit invited us here to keep us safe from you lot, knowing he was going to die tonight?”

               “He didn’t know he was going to die.”

               “Though some of us are not opposed to it,” Faustino smirked.

               Curtis swung his sword in his direction again. “Shut yer fucking mouth before I shut it fer you!” Faustino hissed at him. It earned him another volume of contempt from Curtis two seconds shy of putting him in his place, or trying to. “Ain’t no one got the right to die fer me ‘cept Jesus, and he did that long ago. Bruce ain’t no messiah!”

              “No…but he is a part of a bargain.”

               Everyone turned to the deep melodic voice that was silk and sin wrapped in the trenches of time forgotten and thought of only in dreams. The Elder, no longer looking down on the fallen creature and the one it had chosen as its mate, pointed a bony claw at Lois’s terror stricken face. “Yours is a nature that will find you trouble,” he remarked. “Curious you are, inquisitive, but naïve. Yours is a memory that will not see past the midnight hour, but will bear hidden witness to my decision.”

              “Y-your decision?” Lois whispered. “W-what…what does he mean?”

Her question went unanswered. His attention was on Clark gathering the still creature that was Bruce in his arms, covering him with his cape and hiding him from all. Clark’s eyes were lifeless, as were his movements; his mind void of all thought but one.

             “His soul is most curious,” the Elder exclaimed. “I have seen good…and I have seen evil. I have seen temptation and redemption…joy…sorrow…anger…and I have seen love. His is not a love for humanity. It is for those he deems most precious in this world, and there are few he would place in such a hold on his heart. His is a love for life…and that is enough to sway the balance against what is desired.”

             “WHAT?!” Faustino roared. “NO! IT CANNOT BE!!”

                “But it is, and that is that.” Those fingers of bone glowed under the cloak, the light and energy surrounding Bruce’s still frame and Clark’s nearly lifeless one. He hadn’t reached the pinnacle of his anger, but was closer to it than most would have believed. His face was a rouse and a means of listening without alarming those around him. The Elder, still nameless in all this, moved forward to kneel before them. The hot stale air of brimstone and sulfur was suffocating; the heat scalding before the chill of end made Clark shiver.  Time had no hold on this one…it was a fact that the Elder knew of itself and Clark trembled from.

The elder pressed his fingers to his forehead without warning.

                “Life from another world, yours is the saving grace of this population,” he breathed, amused and bewildered by that fact. “I will tell you a truth you should keep in all your days; the silent truth that bears no witnesses but your ears and his if you so choose to tell him. He’s chosen you...as his father had chosen his mother. Without qualm, unconditional, and willing to give it all up if it meant leaving this world a fighting chance.”

                That glow was blinding. Clark closed his eyes against it and the sting that followed, breathless when those hands cupped his face and forced him to stare into the abyss. The voice never wavered; the scent of roses and death strong and heady. Clark felt himself falling, cold and hot, but something within him would not yield to this touch. Laughter rumbled through his ears and he soon found himself back on that floor staring down at the body in his arms as it took its first breath.

                “He’s yours.” Clark looked up sharply. The Elder laughed again, this time moving away instead of moving closer. “His body has chosen you long before his heart…and it’s only fitting for the son of a Lord to find hope in the skies.”

                “W-wait…” Clark stammered. “What…what was all this for?! Why…”

                “Like I said…he is part of the bargain. A deal made long ago. The prophecies remain in place...written in dreams and spoken by those touched by insanity. Protected by the lands until it comes to pass and only then…will anyone see truth.”

                Dorian went paler than he had been moments ago. “Are you saying…that the prophecy...?”

                “Is truth? We shall see in time.”

                The cloaked figure dressed as death incarnate turned his back to the others and walked over to the humans standing as if time had stopped for them. He traced his fingers over the cheek of a young woman, watching in fascination as the flesh that was once young a supple with life decayed and aged and left her with a scar that would have even the most reckless of them thinking twice about attacking him from behind. Faustino certainly thought twice, his ire and disgust over the situation held in check by the instinct to survive long enough to see this rectified.

                The Elder turned his white gaze upon Faustino, chuckling malevolently. “If you seek to do what you must, then I am not one to stop you…but I do warn that you will not leave without losing something most precious. What that may be is something you will see when you’ve laid your head for the final time.”

                “Oracle, are you certain of this decision?”

                The hooded figure nodded at Yukino and said nothing more on the matter of Faustino and his fate. “While humanity is not to be involved in your private wars, they will find themselves drawn into the center of this as with all things conflicting. The souls here were chosen carefully…Wayne is far from naïve.” He tilted the woman’s face up, the tip of his skeletal finger pricking the center of her throat. She bled, though no red poured from her body. Black rivulets slowly stained the satin like skin and the white shirt that barely hid anything beneath it. It pooled in the center of her bosom, draining just as slow to stain the lower part of her shirt where her belly lie. “This one here…is probably the blackest one, thought I could certainly be wrong.”

                “W-what is he doing to her?!” Lois cried. “Someone tell him to stop!”

                “Why?” Lois looked at Yukino in horror, angry when the Japanese woman laughed at her face. “Naïve child…these people here around you…not one of them are innocent. This is the trade.”

* * *

 


End file.
